Collinear
by Strawberry Shortcake123
Summary: Perhaps they must be apart for now- but, inevitably, their paths will cross again. Tiva. High T.
1. Chapter 1

_I will let go of the badge._

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It is late- very early morning, actually- by the time Tony arrives back in D.C. He is physically and emotionally exhausted, but his body has been operating on Middle Eastern time for months, and it is afternoon there. Sleep, he knows, will be elusive for the next few hours. This is regretful. Unconsciousness would be a blessing at this point; he will take any escape he can get from the hollow feeling in his stomach, the tears he has been fighting ever since he left Ziva behind. He tried to sleep on the plane, but his memories would not stop playing out behind his closed eyelids. Now that he is moving, his new strategy is to try and lose himself in the thud of his own footsteps as he walks through the airport. Exits through the main doors. Waves a cab over.

It doesn't work. No matter what he attempts to busy himself with, he cannot forget. Not for one second.

He realizes, then, that Ziva David is going to haunt him for a very, very long time.

"Where to?" the cab driver asks as he climbs inside, and Tony pauses. The prospect of sitting alone in his dark apartment is not terribly appealing. Maybe he should go to a bar. Get a drink. After the day he's had, he sure as hell deserves one.

But, in the end, he finds himself reciting Gibbs' address.

The front door is unlocked, of course. Tony closes it behind him and walks through the house, coming to a stop at the top of the basement stairs. He inhales deeply. As the familiar smell of sawdust fills his nostrils, he is surprised to feel a little bit of tension ease out of his shoulders.

"Come on down, DiNozzo," Gibbs calls after a few more seconds pass.

Tony starts down the stairs. Gibbs is sanding something, but stops when Tony reaches the bottom.

"You look like hell."

He doesn't doubt the validity of Gibbs' assessment. He knows that there are dark bags under his red-rimmed eyes and that his hair is sticking up in nine different directions. He wonders how long it will take for him to look- and feel- normal again. "So do you. What happened to your eye?"

"Not important. You just get home?"

"Half an hour ago."

"You came straight here, then."

He shrugs. "Yeah. It's been a while. Thought you might want to… you know. Touch base. Fill me in on what I've missed."

"Only been a few days since our last contact." Gibbs sits back on his barstool, leaning against the workbench behind him, and folds his hands over his stomach. He raises both eyebrows expectantly. "How about _you_ fill _me_ in."

Even though he phrases it as a suggestion, it's an order. Tony lets out a breath and pulls up his own stool. He fixes his gaze on a point just beyond Gibbs' shoulder. "I tried to convince her to come home. Didn't work. Swallowed my pride and flat-out begged. No dice." He speaks carefully, willing his voice not to waver, and does a pretty good job of it. "She's in Israel. Safe. That's the most important thing."

"Yeah, it is," Gibbs agrees. They sit in silence for a moment. "I got off the phone with her about an hour ago."

Startled, he looks into the older man's face. "You did?"

Gibbs nods. "Yeah. She told me why she's staying over there. I told her I understand and that I'll try to make sure everyone else does, too." Another pause. Tony's heart lifts slightly, because he honestly hadn't expected Ziva to call so soon. "She also wanted me to make sure you're okay."

And just like that, the lump in his throat returns. "I'm fine."

"She teach you that line?"

He chuckles humorlessly. "Probably."

"Look." Gibbs leans forward. In vain, Tony attempts to avoid the gray-eyed stare boring down on him, but of course he cannot. He meets it hesitantly. "I got a pretty good idea what happened with you two, but I don't need- hell, I don't _want_ the clarification or the mental images. Okay?"

Tony nods. Heat tinges his face as he recalls the two long nights he spent wrapped up in Ziva, touching and tasting and loving her. Cherishing her.

_ Contents priceless._

"That being said, I've always got a spare barstool and plenty of bourbon to share, DiNozzo."

"Thanks, Boss." He is grateful for the offer, but he also knows that he will not make a habit of brooding in Gibbs' basement like a spurned lover. That would be like saying that Ziva is gone for good. That he is distraught and depressed, doomed to be lonely forever.

That would be like giving up on her.

He never has before. And even though a million things have changed in the past twenty-four hours, that won't.

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_ They stood in the orange grove for an immeasurable amount of time, foreheads touching, breathing each other in, before Ziva closed the gap between them. Tony was relieved to feel her soft lips pressing against his. He exhaled through his nose as he closed his eyes and tightened his grip on her waist. She coaxed his mouth open with her tongue; he tugged her as close as physically possible, tilted his head, deepened the kiss. He didn't know what was going to happen tomorrow or the next day or the next. All he knew was that he was here right now. And so was she._

_ This moment was all he had to live for._

_ When they pulled apart, gasping for air, Tony cupped the sides of her flushed face and peppered it with light kisses. She slid one hand from his neck down to his chest, leaving it right over his racing heart. He leaned forward and kissed the shell of her ear before whispering, "It's beating for you, Ziva."_

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When she finds one of Tony's polo shirts wedged between the mattress and the headboard of her bed, Ziva buries her face in it and cries. She cries from guilt and sorrow and pain. She cries because she misses him; because she longs for the strength of his embrace; because she sent her soul mate away. She cries because she loves him more than she has ever loved anybody else.

She cries because she fears that, despite his insistence to the contrary, he will have moved on by the time she is able to return to him.

She cries until she falls asleep, clutching that shirt to her chest as if it is her lifeline.

She awakens sometime later to a pounding headache. With great care, she folds the shirt and places it neatly on the bedside table. Then she pads into the kitchen to start some tea. The water has just begun to boil when a _ping_ sounds from her laptop.

Ziva approaches it cautiously, but relaxes when she sees that it is only an instant message from Tony. _Home safe_, it reads. _Thought you might want to know_.

Her fingers settle hesitantly over the keys. For a moment, she just stares at the screen, debating whether or not she should reply. Whether it is a good idea to keep in contact with him right now.

She cannot actually ignore him, of course. It is not in her. She needs him too much.

_ I am glad, _she types. _Todah._

His reply comes quickly. _Prego_.

And for the first time since he boarded that plane, she cracks a smile.

**Clearly, I am very, very bad at being retired.**

**Because this is a multi-chapter story. I'm only on chapter four right now, but I'm guessing there will wind up being about ten total. I began work on this story just a few days after PPF aired… it's my coping mechanism, I guess.**

**Just so you know, I don't watch NCIS anymore; I don't really know what's happening, so I'm sure this story will be very inconsistent with what's going on in the show.**

**And… yep. I think that's it. Hope you enjoyed the first chapter!**


	2. Chapter 2

_I will not forget either of my families._

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It had not occurred to Tony that staring at Ziva's empty desk day after day after day would be difficult, but he finds out soon enough. There is no life there. All the drawers and shelves are empty, all traces of her gone. She spent eight years sitting across from him. For that spot to suddenly be vacant is just plain eerie.

So are the long stretches of silence that fill the bullpen now. He remembers this from the summer before Somalia; conversations between him and McGee tend to fade out. Ziva, for all her eye rolls and comments on her coworkers' childishness, was the one who kept the banter going until Gibbs started delivering head slaps. Her return to the office back then was a relief for many reasons, one of them being that she simply managed to make everything more _fun_.

Now, work feels like exactly that: _work_.

He is there, at NCIS, combing through a murder victim's credit card records, when an instant message suddenly appears on his screen. His heart jumps into his throat. He dares to hope.

And, yes- there is her name. Surely no four letters have ever elicited such excitement and relief in anybody before this moment.

Tony takes a moment to breathe in deeply, glance around, make sure Gibbs and McGee are still down in the lab. Then he peeks at her message.

_ Is this a good time?_

_ Anytime is a good time, _he types back without hesitation. They have not spoken in several days, not since the night he returned to D.C. He will take whatever she gives, whenever she gives it. _How's the soul-searching?_

_ I am about to board a flight to Argentina._

_ What're you doing there?_

There is a pause before her reply comes, just long enough to make him a little nervous.

_ I suppose I will find out_.

He exhales.

Then, to follow: _I miss you, Tony._

He feels his jaw clench involuntarily as he writes, _then come home_. But he stops just short of sending it. Chewing on his lower lip, he debates with himself. He is in pain; she is in pain; this whole situation is just fucking _painful_, and it would all be resolved if she found her way back into his arms.

Or maybe it wouldn't. Maybe she's right, and this journey really is a necessary step to take if she is going to move forward with her life.

Tony erases the words and replaces them with something less pushy. More raw. _Miss you, too. More than you know._

He tears up when her response appears on the screen.

_ I think I do know. Boarding now. I will talk to you soon. xo_

And she logs off.

He slowly turns away from the computer and back to the credit card printouts, but he can no longer concentrate. His mind has returned to where it always ends up, to his worries and fears and _damn it, Ziva_, and _I love you, Ziva_, and _where the hell do _I_ go from here?_

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_ It took them a lot longer to return to the house than it had to walk out to the grove, because they kept stopping to share light kisses. Their hands became more adventurous with each passing moment, it seemed, and by the time they stumbled across the threshold, lips locked, there was no question about the direction in which this was headed._

_ When his warm fingers slipped beneath the hem of her shirt and caressed the small of her back, Ziva gasped into his mouth. She allowed herself to indulge in his touch for only a couple of seconds; then she pulled away. He attempted to recapture her lips, but she reached up and held his face steady. Their eyes never left each other as they struggled to breathe._

_ "Please," he gasped, tugging her closer so that she was flush against him. "Please don't stop this."_

_ "Don't you think this will make it harder for you to leave me?" she asked. She was not particularly _enjoying_ being the voice of reason here, not when her body and soul were both thrumming with desire. But she was dangerously close to breaking his heart- and her own- already. She feared for how shattered they would be if they got a glimpse of what could have been, only to have it ripped away._

_ "It's gonna be awful," Tony said, causing her heart to twinge, "regardless of what we do or don't do."_

_ She exhaled. "What do you want, Tony?"_

_ "You." He tugged her closer. "All I want is you."_

_ The backs of Ziva's eyes burned. She kissed him, long and hard and passionate, and silently prayed for the day when she could hand herself, whole, over to him._

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In Argentina, she decides that the beach is a good place to start.

Ziva has always loved the ocean, ever since she saw it for the first time at five years old. Back then, she just thought it was pretty: the blue, the sun, the way it brought joy into her father's face when she had begun to think he had no happiness in him. And it is still beautiful, yes, of course it is… but now, as she trudges toward the water, struggling to lift her feet as sand weighs down her shoes, she knows that she is here for another reason.

The walk is not easy. She nearly runs into a couple too wrapped up in each other to pay attention to their surroundings. She has no business feeling jealous- it was her decision to leave Tony, after all- but she cannot help it. A mere week ago, she had somebody by her side, too. Somebody who begged her to come home with him; somebody who offered to give up everything he had, everything he was, to be with her.

When she averts her eyes from the couple, she finds her gaze landing on a family with two young children. The kids are laughing. The parents look on proudly. From the outside, they appear to be the perfect family.

_ Perfect._

She wonders if anybody ever looked at the David family and thought such a thing. To those who only spared a fleeting glance, they may have appeared that way.

Perception is a funny thing. It depends solely on one's point of view. She cannot begin to count the number of times she has wished for a different one.

Raising her chin and squaring her shoulders, she continues her trek, her paces growing quicker, more urgent. When the shoreline comes into view, she releases a breath she had not realized she was holding, then kicks off her shoes and wades ankle-deep into the water.

Ziva closes her eyes. Tilts her head back. Yellow and orange spots dance behind her eyelids. Her muscles loosen up; for the first time in far too long, she finds herself growing calm. A peace like she's never known before settles within her. A few more seconds pass before a wave comes in, crashing against her calves, cooling her bare toes.

She laughs out loud. A genuine laugh. And that- _that_ is why she is here. Because her childhood was not easy. It was not terribly joyful, or carefree, or innocent. But whenever she was at the beach, she felt removed from all of that.

At the beach, she could always pretend.

More water cascades over her feet. Ziva allows her heels to sink into the moist sand, a gentle sigh escaping her lips.

Pretending used to be her lifeline.

But she is so very, very tired of it now.

**Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, favorited, alerted, etc. Hope you all like this chapter as much as the first!**


	3. Chapter 3

_I will travel, but not for a mission. Just for me._

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"Tony."

He scribbles his signature on the dotted line, then shuts the case file. "What?" he asks, reaching for another one.

Abby smacks his hand with a little more force than strictly necessary.

"Ow!" Tony withdraws his arm, cradling it to his chest. "Jeez. What the hell do you want?"

"McGee and I are going out for drinks," she says. "Wanna come?"

He glances at the paperwork strewn across his desk. While not appealing in the slightest, it somehow seems like a more desirable option than socializing with his teammates, who have taken to asking _how are you? _and _are you doing okay? _quite a bit lately. A mere month has passed since he returned from Israel. The answers he gives to these questions- _fine, yes, thanks_- are blatant lies.

Of course, the others see right through him.

"I need to finish this up, you guys," Tony says. "But thanks."

Abby opens her mouth to protest, but McGee cuts her off. "Gibbs told you those could wait until Monday," he says firmly.

"Well, I've got time now."

"Would you just stop moping and come get a damn drink with us?"

McGee's borderline harsh tone renders everyone speechless. Tony fixes his partner with a hard stare. In another surprise move, McGee does not back down. Abby looks back and forth between them, her eyes wide as saucers.

"Look," McGee says finally, more softly. "I know Ziva leaving affects you the most, 'cause you guys had the… whatever you want to call it. But it's been hard for all of us, too."

And maybe it means he's a selfish, narcissistic bastard (in all honestly, there are plenty of people in the world who would put that label on him) but this is something of a revelation to Tony. He has been so caught up in his own pain that he has barely noticed that of those around him.

But of _course _they're hurting. This team is a family, always has been. And they- not he, but _they_- have lost a member.

Tony gathers his files into a single stack, positions it in the center of his desk, and stands. "I'm coming."

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_ In the nearest bedroom, Ziva nudged Tony backwards until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. She bent over at the waist to keep kissing him; when she finally did pull back, he whined in protest. "Hey."_

_ "Shh," she chastised softly. Her hands went to the hem of her sweater and then she was lifting it over her head, tossing it aside. He could not prevent his eyes from wandering all over her torso. He admired her taut abdominal muscles. He caressed her sides. Separating his knees, he tugged her closer so that she was standing between them, then looked into her flushed face. "You sure, Ziva?"_

_ "Yes," she breathed, and that was all he needed. He kissed each of her breasts where they swelled above her bra. She threaded her fingers into his hair as he forged a path down her stomach and along the waistband of her pants. When he nibbled gently at her hip, she jerked._

_ "Okay?" he murmured. He slid his hands along the backs of her thighs. She gave a soft, affirmative hum in answer to his question, and he responded by unbuttoning her pants. Ziva eased them down slowly, revealing more olive skin inch by inch._

_ Then she stood before him in nothing but her undergarments, and _damn it_, she was even more beautiful than he remembered._

_ Tony couldn't stand it any longer. All pretenses of self-control flying out the window, he stood, drew her into his arms, crushed her against his chest. They fell back on the bed as their kisses turned passionate. Ziva's hands were everywhere at once, frantically disrobing him. He dug a hand into her hair and anchored his lips to her neck, her collarbone, her throat. It was not long before they were completely bared to each other, completely vulnerable._

_ Eight years, they had been partners. Eight years, they had been toeing the line. And it all came down to this._

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After spending a fortnight walking along and tanning on the beaches of Argentina, Ziva boards a flight to Stockholm, the first of several places she plans to visit in Europe. She probably would not bother going that far north if not for the fact that she has never been to Scandinavia. Not once. Her work with Mossad and NCIS sent her all over the world, but, coincidentally, never there.

For the first time, she is going to be introduced to a new country as a tourist rather than an operative.

The thought sends a shiver down her spine.

She eats her weight in meatballs and visits Royal National City Park and, although she is not terribly keen on heights, forces herself to go to the top of the Ericsson Globe. (She does not regret it.) She enjoys the Moderna Museet and Gamla Stan, but her favorite attraction is the Vasa. The ship and its history fascinate her- it sunk over three hundred years before it was recovered, yet it was still able to be restored, and it is beautiful.

_ Redemption from a troubled history, _she thinks as she stares at it, and a lump rises in her throat.

From there, she heads south and then west. (_Toward Washington_, says a nagging voice in the back of her head, but she does her best to ignore it.) Russia, Latvia, the Ukraine. Romania. Hungary. Poland. She dares to go to Berlin, but quickly realizes that she has made a mistake. She checks into a hotel, telling the clerk that she will only be there for one night. In the morning, she will set off for Munich, leaving behind the reminders of the vendetta that nearly destroyed her.

These memories are not the ones that find Ziva as she is trying to fall asleep later. Instead, she is kept awake by thoughts of Tony. He was the one with her when she was here in the spring; if she is to be honest with herself, he was the only thing in the world keeping her sane at that time. She remembers resting her head on his shoulder while she napped, and how safe and protected his warmth made her feel, and how she nearly melted when he ran a hand over her hair. She remembers dancing with him, their chests brushing, his arm around her waist possessive yet gentle, the look in his eyes that made her heart skip a beat or three.

Suddenly, she misses him so much she can barely breathe. She lets out a strangled cry, then turns her face into the pillow.

Alone in a foreign city, the sole occupant of a queen sized bed, she sobs.

When she has regained her composure, she reaches for her cell phone. It is only a little after ten; in D.C., it is late afternoon. Tony is probably still at work.

For a long time, Ziva stares, her vision blurred, at the screen. Then, with a deep breath and a desperate prayer that he answers, she presses speed dial number one.

He answers on the second ring. "Ziva?" he asks eagerly.

She is so relieved to hear his voice that she bursts into tears once more.


	4. Chapter 4

**(Just a quick note: I kept this chapter at a T rating, so nothing is explicit, but if you're uncomfortable with sex scenes, I would go ahead and skip the flashback.)**

_I will stop to pray._

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"Hey," Tony says. "Hey. Ziva. What's the matter?"

Bishop, their brand-new hire, is staring at him from Ziva's desk. He waves his hand at her dismissively and returns his attention to the sniffles in his ear. "Ziva. Are you okay?"

"Yes," she murmurs, the first word she has spoken during this call. He relaxes slightly. The rest of the team is staring at him, all wearing different expressions- Bishop, curiosity; McGee, concern; Gibbs, annoyance. He ducks out from behind his desk and goes to the window, turning his back on all of them to look out at the falling snow. It is still two days to Thanksgiving; Tony takes this premature snowfall to mean that they are all in for a long, miserable winter.

Granted, it was going to be long and miserable anyway. At least for him.

On the other end of the line, Ziva takes a couple of deep breaths. "I just needed to hear you."

"Well, here I am." He tries for a soothing tone, trying not to give away how glad _he_ is to hear _her_ voice. They haven't spoken on the phone in a couple of weeks. She's been busy gallivanting across Europe and has only had time for quick e-mails and texts. Feeling the eyes of his teammates on his back, he lowers his voice. "Where are you?"

Silence. Then: "Berlin."

"Oh," he says. "And how is that, this time of year?"

"I do not know. I have been walled up in this room all night." She exhales so heavily that the phone crackles in his ear. "I wish you were here."

And that is a feeling Tony knows all too well.

"Ziva, you say the word-"

"No," she interrupts, gentle but firm and also a little bit sad. "As much as I… as much as I want you, I cannot continue to let you chase me all over the world. It is not fair to you."

He closes his eyes and tugs at his tie in frustration. He wants to argue; he wants to hang up; he wants to cry. In the end, he waits.

Ziva's voice breaks when she adds, "I am okay, Tony. You do not need to come here. Let me find _my_ way to _you_ for once, hmm?"

He stares down at the tops of his dress shoes. "Alright," he says.

"I love you."

Tony snaps his head up. They exchanged the sentiment in Israel, but this is the first time it has been repeated, vocally or in writing, since their separation.

And yet here she is, acknowledging it. And he'll be damned if he's not going to take advantage of his newfound freedom to do the same. He kept those three words inside for years, after all; he has earned this.

"I love you, too, Ziva." His heart rate increases when it hits him that the end of their conversation is near, and he has no idea when he'll get to hear her voice again. "Try to get some sleep, okay?"

"Okay," she whispers. Tony imagines her eyelids drooping, her body relaxing into the mattress. "Oh, and the others- tell them I said hello, please?"

"I will," he promises, and then repeats, "I love you." He wants that to be the last thing she hears before she goes to sleep.

"I will text you tomorrow," she says. "Good night, Tony."

With that, she hangs up.

He pockets his phone, swipes at the corner of his eye, and turns toward his teammates and his awaiting paperwork.

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_ In spite of her brain's quickly diminishing ability to focus on detail, Ziva tried to commit everything to memory: Tony's warmth above her; his fingers working wonders all over her body; the flick of his tongue against her neck. She reveled in him- enough so, hopefully, that these memories would hold her over until she saw him again._

_ When he pulled back to look at her, his eyes dark, her heart skipped a beat. She brought their joined hands to rest on her chest. Tony brushed his nose against hers, and a shiver wracked her naked spine._

_ "Please," she whispered._

_ "Please what?" His voice was serious, his tiny smile mischievous._

_ Ziva thrust her hips upward, ground them into his, and they both moaned in pleasure. She then hooked her foot around one of his thighs. "You know what."_

_ Of course he did- and, of course, he obeyed her order. They moved together until he cried out and she followed, his name the last word out of her mouth before she shuddered and then sagged. Tony moved off of her. Desperate to remain close to him, Ziva pressed herself against his torso. The only sound in the room was that of them gasping for air._

_ She had just regained her bearings when she felt the first drop of moisture against her cheek. It was followed by a second, then a third. She glanced up at Tony and was horrified to find his eyes squeezed shut as his chin quivered._

_ "Tony," she gasped, reaching up to cup his cheek. He put his head down on top of hers as a strangled sob ripped from his throat._

_ Guilt shot through her. This was the second time he had cried that day, and she was the only one to blame._

_ "Shhh," she whispered. It was all she could think of to say. She held him as close to her as physically possible. "Shhh, Tony. It is okay. We are okay."_

_ Again and again, she murmured those words. Tony clutched her, planted kisses along her shoulders, occasionally begged her to come home with him, not to leave him. _Don't do this to me, Ziva_. Her heart broke a thousand times over; her temptation to give in became overwhelming._

_ But she resisted. She knew what she had to do. Even though the thought of sending him away filled her with dread, this was the only way for her to become whole._

_ Firstly, for herself. But also for him, and for them- as partners, as lovers, as soul mates._

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As soon as the train departs from the station and begins to carry her away from Berlin, Ziva heaves a huge sigh of relief. She clutches her handbag in her lap, tilts her head back, stares at the ceiling. Never again, she decides, will she return to this city without Tony by her side.

She is operating on only a few hours' sleep and the day did not get off to a great start, what with her having to flee Berlin as soon as she woke up, but she manages to enjoy Munich. Her next two days are spent there. She explores the city, takes an excessive amount of pictures (Tony would be proud) and, on the second afternoon, finds a postcard stand. On a whim, she grabs six- one for each member of the team she left behind- and she fills them all with personalized notes. There is a grin on her face when she mails them, because she is thinking of how surprised her former coworkers are going to be. She especially hopes that her postcard to Gibbs makes him smile.

Then Tali's birthday arrives, and tourist time is over. She travels to Austria with the sole purpose of attending the Vienna State Opera. As soon as she sees the opera house, her breath catches in her lungs. It is beautiful. Tali would have thought so, too.

Ziva listens to the music and watches the performer intently. Occasionally, though, she finds her eyelids falling shut- not because of exhaustion, but because a new memory of Tali has entered her mind, and she wants to entertain it. She has found, over the years, that she is able to more vividly remember Tali in an opera house than just about anywhere else. So she allows herself to relive the laughter of a child playing, the tears of a teenager rejected by her first crush, the spunk of a daughter determined to go her own way, the mischievous chortle of a sister teasing her siblings. _Oh, _how Ziva misses her- and yet, there is something therapeutic about remembering. She even allows her tears to fall, because contrary to anything she's ever been told, they are _not _a sign of weakness.

Toward the end of the performance, Tali's voice enters her head once more- but this time, it makes her freeze.

_ Ziva, I do not think anybody else loves me the way you do._

It takes her a moment to figure out when Tali said this, if at all. But then it comes to her: Ziva had been eighteen and about to leave for the IDF. Tali, distressed by her pending departure, had taken to sleeping in her bed. It was cramped. Ziva complained; secretly, she did not mind the company.

What she did mind was the timing of Tali's random outbursts. The thoughts she deemed worthy of sharing always came to her just as Ziva was drifting off. But that night, instead of shushing her sister, Ziva rolled over and squinted at her. "What do you mean?"

"Think about it. Abba's time is always occupied by work." Tali was not resentful when she spoke of this. Just honest. "Ima is always stomping around complaining about him- it is as if he still lives with us, the way she goes on. And Ari is with Mossad now, too. You are the only one who asks about my day, about school and my friends. I wish you could stay here. I am going to miss you so much."

"Tali, you must know that the others love you, as well. They are just a little-"

"Busy. Yes, I know." Tali buried her face in Ziva's neck. "But you never are. You have duties, too, but you always make time for me."

Ziva has thought about this night every so often over the years; after all, it is one of her final memories of Tali. A pang of guilt usually accompanies it: Tali did not know (and did not live long enough to find out) that Ziva had already agreed to join Mossad as soon as her time in the IDF was over. She would have been very displeased, to say the least.

But tonight, here in the opera house, she comes to a realization that has eluded her before. The ground shifts beneath her; her heart picks up its pace.

Tali has been gone for thirteen years. A lot has happened in that time, and much of it is on Ziva's list of regrets. But nothing she has done changes the fact that at one point, she- Ziva David, the Mossad operative, the assassin, the federal agent- _she_ was somebody's source of unconditional love.

And now, inevitably, her mind drifts to Tony. Tony, who offered his heart to her along with everything else he had to give. She had wanted to accept it, all of it. She told herself that she could not.

Even after having slept with him, even after kissing him at the airport, there was some underlying guilt, a feeling of unworthiness. That's why she is on this journey, after all.

But maybe she underestimated herself and her ability to love, to be loved, to be happy with him and make him happy, too.

Perhaps she need not have any reservations at all.

The final note fades out, and Ziva closes her eyes as a feeling of peace settles over her. She feels close to her sister. She knows Tony is in D.C. right now, willing to wait as long as it takes for her to rejoin him.

And though it is irrational, she has the strangest feeling that if Tali were here right now, she would be jabbing Ziva in the ribs, urging her to _go, go. Go back to America. What are you waiting for?_


	5. Chapter 5

_I will forgive myself._

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It's already six o'clock, but it is becoming increasingly clear that the team's night is just getting started. Gibbs stomped off to MTAC ten minutes ago and has yet to return. Tony sits behind McGee's desk while his partner goes through security footage from the nightclub where their dead Marine was last seen alive. He isn't exactly giving the task his undivided attention; he's tired, and the coffee cup in his hand is much more enticing than the fat bouncer checking identification.

"There he is," McGee says suddenly, leaning toward the screen. Tony doesn't move except to squint his eyes. "He's with a girl. His brother said he didn't have a girlfriend."

"Can you get a shot of her face?"

"Should be able to, if she turns around."

"Tony," Bishop calls, "do you have a paperclip?"

"Yeah," he says without looking up. "In my desk, somewhere."

The Marine and his mystery woman move through the line without ever looking at the camera. Once they disappear into the club, Tony and McGee groan.

"There's footage of the bar on the inside, too," McGee says. "I'll look at that next."

Tony flashes him a thumbs up before tilting his head back and raising his coffee to his lips. He has just taken a huge gulp when Bishop says, "Hey, I didn't know you were Jewish."

He sputters and nearly chokes. Glancing to his left, he finds that she is bent over his top drawer. In two long strides he is next to her. He barely gets a glimpse of Ziva's Star of David necklace before he slams the drawer shut. "Did you get a paperclip?" he growls.

Bishop is staring at him, wide-eyed. "Um… yeah," she says, and scurries back to her desk. A thick, tense silence falls over the three of them. Tony fights to regain his composure. He wants to explain himself, but the words will not come.

"Sorry," he manages eventually.

Bishop just narrows her eyes. He can't blame her.

Then something like understanding passes over her face, and her mouth forms an _o_. "_Ziva_," she says. Tony is caught off guard- but, in hindsight, they probably _have_ mentioned Ziva in front of her replacement at some point. Her departure is still a touchy subject with Gibbs, though, so she doesn't come up all that often in the squad room. He hadn't realized that Bishop paid close enough attention to know who she was. "I _thought_ that was a weird name. It's Hebrew, isn't it?"

"Yes, it's Hebrew, and yes, I have her necklace. Can we leave it at that?" Tony sits down heavily, grabs the nearest file, and leans over it.

But now McGee is interested, too. "You didn't tell me she gave you that."

"Surprise, Tim." Exasperated, Tony reopens his drawer and takes out the necklace, letting the chain dangle off of his index finger. "It's right here."

The three of them are quiet again- until Bishop, with her ever-lacking knowledge of when to shut up, forks her fingers together and says, "So you and her were-"

"It's complicated." He can't take this anymore. Too many questions, too few answers. _He_ certainly doesn't have them. His relationship with Ziva remains undefined; he has no idea when she'll be home; even if he wanted to, he couldn't tell his teammates anything. Shoving away from his desk, he says, "I'm gonna go see if Gibbs needs help."

But he stops after just a few steps. Turns around, looks at each of them before settling his gaze on Bishop. "I'm sorry," he says again, more emphatically. "Really. I didn't mean to snap."

She smiles slightly at him. "You shouldn't apologize. I hear it's a sign of weakness."

_ Don't be like me,_ Gibbs once told him. And he won't. He won't take out his worry and uncertainty on those around him; he won't become bitter; he won't let his troubles take over his life, weigh him down, suffocate him.

Tony gives Bishop a shrug. "Not when it's necessary."

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_ Ziva was lying on her back while he pressed up against her, arm slung across her bare waist, lazily kissing her shoulder. Rounds two and three exhausted them; they had barely moved in the past ten minutes. Despite being regarded as a sex maniac by most who knew him, he was in no hurry to get started again now. He would be happy to hold her like this forever._

_ Moving his lips to a spot behind her ear, Tony allowed his hand to drift further south. "You're beautiful," he murmured. He gently stroked across the flower tattooed on her inner thigh. Earlier, with ragged breath, she had told him that she got it on a dare when she was seventeen. "Ziva." He moved back up, caressed the curve of her side- not trying to seduce her. Just convince her. "Ziva. Ziva. Ziva."_

_ "What is it, Tony?" she asked huskily._

_ "I like saying your name."_

_ Ziva laughed low in her throat and threaded her fingers through his hair, dragging his face back up to hers. He lost himself in her kiss; he was floating, he was falling._

_ She was the only one who could catch him._

_ "Come home," he tried again once he pulled away. Her jaw immediately tightened. Tony cupped her chin. "It can be like this all the time, Ziva. You and me."_

_ She shook her head._

_ "Look me in the eye," he said, "and tell me this doesn't feel right. If you can do that, I'll leave it alone."_

_ Ziva sighed softly and reached up to caress his cheeks, much like she did earlier in the orange grove. The gaze she fixed him with was adoring, loving. Stupidly, he began to hope._

_ "You know I cannot say that," she whispered._

_ "Then why-"_

_ "I need some time for myself. I need to do the things on my list." She gave him another kiss, this one short and chaste. "The woman you're in bed with, Tony- she is broken."_

_ He wanted to tell her that she was wrong, but they had been partners for eight years and, unfortunately, he had experienced the full extent of her stubbornness. Ziva had decided she needed fixing. She was hell bent on doing this self-discovery thing on her own. And so she would._

_ "Promise you'll come back to me when you're ready," he said, toying with the wild curls splayed out across her pillow. "I'll wait for you."_

_ "It is not fair for me to ask-"_

_ "You didn't ask. I offered."_

_ Once again, Ziva's expression softened. "Okay," she conceded quietly._

_ Tony leaned down. "Okay."_

_ "Okay," she sighed, the word disappearing into his kiss along with the rest of her breath._

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Ziva's tour of Europe ends in Ireland- one of the places she wanted to visit as a young girl- and she returns to Israel in the middle of December. In the past couple of months, she has experienced more culture, tried more new food, and seen more sights than most people get to in a lifetime. She must admit that she feels happier and just generally _better_. In fact, on the plane ride, she seriously considers calling Tony as soon as she lands and telling him that he needs to buy a bigger bed within the next forty-eight hours.

But by the time she arrives in Tel Aviv, Ziva has decided against that. She misses him and the rest of her former teammates terribly and she does not need- or want- to be away from them for much longer. However, there is one more thing she needs to do before she goes home.

She stays in her family's old apartment, reading books and making challah, falafels, the entire cuisine of her childhood. It feels a bit lonely, and she does shed a few tears for her parents and siblings. But it is not as bad as it could be; she could be hopeless, depressed, and she is not. It is nice to have some time to relax indoors after all her tromping across Europe. Besides, her mind is mostly occupied; she must formulate plans, finalize travel arrangements. And she is growing increasingly more excited about her next step.

Around ten o'clock on December 24, she settles down in front of her laptop and sends Tony a video chat request. It takes a couple minutes before he responds; when he does, she is happy to see that he's in his apartment and not at work.

"Hey," he says, sitting down on the couch. The screen shakes as he moves his computer closer to himself. "Sorry, I was in the bathroom."

"It's okay."

"You look good," he says.

Ziva takes in his clean-shaven face, his sweatpants and t-shirt, his affectionate smile. "As do you."

"Were there parades in the streets of Israel when you made your grand return?"

Ziva laughs with him. "But of course."

"Yeah, I bet. I'm gonna have one when you come back to me, too."

She bites her lip and changes the subject. "Tomorrow is Christmas, yes? What are you doing?"

"Going to Leyla's with the boss man, as usual."

"Tell her and Amira I said hello."

Tony nods. "I will. In all seriousness, ninja, how've you been?"

"Very well." Her stomach flips over with anticipation and anxiety, and she takes a deep breath. "I actually called because… I need to, um… discuss something with you."

His eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, but he waits for her to go on.

"I have gone to Europe," Ziva begins, "and I have enjoyed myself. And now I believe that it is time to… atone for my sins."

"Ziva-" he starts to protest, but she cuts him off.

"In two weeks, I am going to Kenya with a group that restores existing orphanages in underdeveloped countries," she informs him. "It is a three month project. I am going to… there will be no violence involved, Tony. I have killed bad people to save good people, and that was necessary, yes, but this… I am going to help shelter and feed children who have nothing else, and no blood will have to be shed. This is giving. Just giving, no taking of life. I have never been apart of something like this before. And I… I have to say, I am excited."

He studies her intently as he listens to her rambling explanation. Once she has finished and is waiting nervously for his reaction, he says, "Ziva, if you're excited, so am I."

She smiles, feeling warmth expand in her chest. "Yes?"

"Yeah." Tony cocks his head and furrows his brow, a sure sign that he is concerned. "Do you know… are you gonna be okay with going there?"

"Yes," she says again- a statement this time, rather than a question. But her voice is still wrought with uncertainty. Kenya is a little closer to Somalia than she really cares for. To be honest, she almost backed out of the whole trip because of it. The purpose of all this is for her to move on with her life, though. To stop the past from ruining her future.

So she signed up.

And she is going.

"I am okay with it, Tony," she assures him. "It will be safe, and… and I will be fine."

"You sure?"

"Yes. But you should know I may not be able to contact you very often. Please do not worry about me."

"I'll try, but you have a long and storied history of worrying me, Miss David." Tony smiles, so she knows that she is forgiven for all the panic she has caused him over the years. "So this trip ends in, what… April?"

"April the tenth."

"And then where are you going?"

This is the part she's been waiting for. She leans toward the computer screen, wanting to clearly see his face when she tells him. "I will return here to tie up loose ends. Visit Aunt Nettie and Shmiel, pay my respects to my family members who have passed, make sure all of my father's affairs are taken care of. And then… then, I am coming to D.C."

And there- his eyes light up, he beams widely, and Ziva does the same. "Wait, really?"

"Yes."

"_Really_?"

"Yes, Tony," she laughs. "In the spring, I will be home."

"For good."

"For good."

And she is not even worried about keeping her promise, because she knows she could never do anything to erase the excitement from this man's face.


	6. Chapter 6

**Asante = thank you**

**Jambo = hello**

_I will make others smile. I will smile, too._

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"Do you have any idea what you're doing?"

Tony shakes out the leaflet that came with his brand new four poster queen-sized bed and scans it once again. Just like every other time, he doesn't comprehend a word of it. "Nope."

With a groan, McGee sets aside the slab of polished wood in his hand. "We've been sitting here for an hour, and we've gotten two screws in the right spots. _Two_. Why don't you just hire somebody to do this for you?"

"There's no reason to pay another few hundred dollars when I can do it myself."

"Yeah, except you _can't_."

The two men exchange long glares. Their moods are not exactly jovial at the moment; they have spent the day disassembling Tony's old bed, moving it out of the apartment, then bringing in the new one and its mattress. They are tired and hungry and have just about had it- with the furniture, and with each other.

"You know," McGee says finally, "you never did tell me what's up with the mad rush to get a bigger bed."

"Like I said-"

"Don't give me the line about the blowup doll again."

Tony sighs as he looks into the exhausted face of the man who sacrificed his day off to assist with this debacle. Neither of them would ever dare use the term, but McGee probably qualifies as his best friend. (Besides Ziva, of course. But she doesn't really count, since she is his everything else, too.) He starts with, "This has to stay between us."

McGee nods, looking mildly concerned.

As much as he fights it, Tony can't prevent a smile from escaping when he says, "Ziva's coming home."

"Wait- what?" His partner's jaw drops. "When?"

"Next month."

"How long have you known?"

Tony averts his gaze. "Since Christmas."

"Christmas?" A trace of hurt has entered McGee's voice. "Were you guys gonna tell us? I mean… does she even want to see the rest of us?"

"'Course she does, Tim." He taps his instruction manual against the palm of his other hand. "It's just… with the way she left, and the… the _mess_ this whole thing became… she wants to make sure she handles it well."

McGee's sigh suggests that he is still unconvinced, but his nod is understanding. Silence falls over them until he breaks it. "So the bed… is for the two of you?"

He bites the inside of his cheek. This is the reason he spent the day making cracks about blowup dolls. It was so he wouldn't have to answer questions like this. "Yeah."

"You guys are serious?"

They have video chatted about once every two weeks while Ziva has been in Africa. With the date of her arrival at JFK rapidly approaching, they've been forced to discuss their relationship: its nature, where it's headed, how it's going to work. They have left no stone unturned, no conversation unfinished.

For the first time in their long, complicated history, they are on the same page.

"Yeah," Tony says. "We're serious."

McGee nods, expression dazed. Tony doesn't blame him- the news that two of your friends and coworkers are going to end an indefinite separation by shacking up can be a little hard to process. He has bowed his head and attempted to make sense of the directions again when McGee says, "When did you know?"

"Know what?"

"That you love her."

Startled, he looks up from Diagram 2A. He raises his eyebrows, but the younger man just waits expectantly for a response. "I don't know," he says with brutal honesty. "It's been so long now, I can't even remember what it was like to want someone else."

The skin of McGee's cheek pokes out as he sticks his tongue into it. "That's how I'm starting to feel about Delilah. Like… like she's _it_. Like nobody else would ever be enough, because I would just be comparing them to her. You know?"

"Oh, yeah." Tony laughs shortly. "I know."

"I went to a jewelry store last weekend to look at rings."

That, he wasn't expecting.

His jaw drops slightly. "You thinking of popping the question, McRomeo?"

"Yeah. Not tomorrow or anything, but… soon."

McGee is clearly trying not to betray too much emotion in his face, but he's failing miserably. Tony has never seen his teammate look anywhere near this excited, not even about new video games. To be honest, he's jealous that McGee and Delilah have been able to get their shit together a lot quicker than he and Ziva. The envy is a blip on the radar, though, compared to how happy he is for them.

"Congrats, probie," he says, completely sincere, and extends his hand for a shake- but, somehow, they end up hugging instead.

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The last little girl in line has received her midday cup of beans and rice and is hurrying off to join her friends. Heaving a tired sigh, Ziva readjusts the scarf on her head. "Eat first, or clean up?" she asks Naomi, the woman with whom she serves lunch every day.

Naomi stretches her arms above her head and looks around the crowded mess hall. It is much cleaner, safer, and sturdier than it was when their group first arrived here, but there is still work to be done before they depart. "Eat, I think."

"Agreed," Ziva says as her stomach growls.

She scoops out two helpings, grabs two wooden spoons, and follows Naomi to a corner of the room. The women settle into the dirt floor with their backs against the walls, cups propped on their knees.

"It still amazes me, even after two months, how grateful they are just to have this little bit of food," Naomi muses. "Every single day, it's _asante, asante, asante, _over and over. They are so enthusiastic, too; they are not simply being polite. You know?"

"I do," Ziva says. Her heart aches every day for the thin children whose meals were few and far between before she and the others arrived to restore the orphanage. The same thing is happening all over Kenya, all over the continent of Africa. It is a hard thing to witness- but, as Naomi said, the girls' resounding chorus of thanks is worth all of the grief.

They eat and chat about the group's agenda for the next couple of weeks, and then about their personal plans for afterward. Naomi, a self-declared nomad who cannot stand being tethered to one place for too long, congratulates Ziva on moving in with her boyfriend (an amusing choice of words, Ziva thinks- it makes her relationship with Tony sound a lot simpler than it is). Their portions of food are small; they finish quickly. As the two of them are heading back over to the preparation area, Ziva feels a small hand grab hers. She looks down to find Hasina, seven years old, to whom she has grown very attached.

"_Jambo_," she greets before asking in Swahili, "Are you finished eating?"

"Yes," Hasina says with a bashful smile, handing over her used cup and spoon. Then she stays where she is, shuffling from foot to foot. Ziva glances at Naomi, who waves her off and goes to begin cleaning up.

Once she is gone, Ziva crouches in front of Hasina. "What is wrong?" she asks quietly. She fears for what it might be. One of the orphanage's teachers told her in private that both of Hasina's parents died of malaria and she was being raised by an older sister until the sister's husband contracted AIDS and the two of them suddenly disappeared. No news is good news when it comes to Hasina.

"My teacher Femi says you are leaving soon."

Ziva exhales heavily, feels her shoulders sag with relief. "Yes, I am. Your teachers do not need our help anymore."

"I wish you could stay."

She sucks her bottom lip in between her teeth. "So do I," she says truthfully. As anxious as she is to return to Tony, she also wishes her time in this place, with Hasina and the other sweet children here, could last longer.

But she has already proven that she knows when it is time to let go.

"Do not worry, Hasina," she says soothingly, tapping the girl's nose. "Because we may be leaving, but we are leaving all this food, and all that paper, and all those pencils. You are not going to be hungry anymore. You will learn to read and write. It will be wonderful."

As always when the prospect of an education and a full belly are brought up, Hasina grins, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "It will, it will! I just wish that you were going to be here so I could show you, Miss Ziva."

She takes only one brief moment to consider before pulling a scrap of paper and a pen from the pocket of her cargo pants. "Here," she says, hastily scrawling out Tony's address, "is where I will be living. Once you have gotten very good at writing, you may write me a letter and have your teacher send it to me."

Hasina's jaw drops. "Really?"

"Of course." Ziva presses the paper into her palm and then closes her fingers over it. The white disappears beneath the dark mahogany of Hasina's skin. "Do not lose it."

"Oh, I won't," Hasina says, grinning. "And when I write to you, will you write me back?"

"I will," she promises, because she has also learned when to hold on just a little bit, in any way she can.


	7. Chapter 7

_I will figure out where I belong._

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Tony's leg is beginning to grow tired from an hour of bouncing up and down. He keeps trying to stop by pushing down on his knees; it works for all of ten seconds. Then he glances up at the arrivals board or catches a glimpse of dark hair, his stomach flips over, and he can do nothing but slump further down into his seat as his foot resumes its anxious dance.

Today is _the_ day. He's been an exhilarated, terrified mess since the moment he woke up this morning. Work dragged on and on, and it didn't help that his teammates were much more interested in discussing Ziva than their current case. (Until Gibbs started distributing head slaps, that is.) Once she left Kenya last week, she called each of the others individually to announce that she was coming home, and he has barely heard a conversation about anything else since. He doesn't really mind; Ziva is like family to all of them, too. He gets that.

Even so, he's glad to be in the airport by himself right now. He has missed her so very much, and he isn't ready to share her yet.

Ziva's flight no longer has a projected landing time of 7:03 listed next to it. Now, five minutes early, it says _arrived_. He swallows so loudly it echoes in his ears as he stands and heads toward her gate, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants. She is right outside.

She's _here._

Too soon- but, somehow, not soon enough- the passengers begin filtering into the lobby, one after another. Hugging and squealing and waving commences. Tony rocks back on his heels, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he fixes his eyes on the doors straight ahead.

One second she is not there and the next, she is. His heart jumps into his throat; for a long moment, he's incapable of moving. All he can do is stare: at her hair, curly and loose; at her spring jacket, hugging her curves just right; at her bulging carry-on bag, stuffed full because she's here to stay.

He is still watching her, dumbfounded, when she spots him. Her jaw drops for just a moment before she breaks into a grin. She starts in his direction, dragging that suitcase behind her on its wheels. He watches her the way a man watches his bride come down the aisle: like she is rescuing him, coming to make the rest of his life worth living.

Finally, Tony manages to unglue his feet from the floor. He erases the remaining distance between them and catches her as she flings herself into his arms. He closes his eyes and returns the embrace, perfectly happy to just revel in her warmth.

With her arms still locked around his waist, Ziva positions her lips right up against his ear. "Tony," she whispers. Hearing her voice in person is enough to send chills through him.

"Yeah."

"I'm here."

He gently pulls her head back so that he can see her face. She smiles at him, eyes slightly moist.

"Yeah, you are," he murmurs before gripping her chin and dragging her mouth up to his. Their kiss, though equally as passionate, is so different than the last one they shared in Israel. Instead of desperate, it is unhurried. Instead of bittersweet, it is joyous.

Instead of goodbye, it is hello.

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Ziva knows that the way she and Tony have chosen to proceed with their relationship is unorthodox; until last fall, they were no more than friends, and now, after months apart, her home is suddenly his. There are so many unknowns- not only where Tony is involved, but also for her, personally and professionally. She is not naïve; she knows that not everything will go smoothly.

However, on this first night back in America, those worries seem distant. She has a belly full of Thai food and has now been sideways in Tony's lap for the better part of an hour. Sometimes they talk; sometimes they kiss. Mostly, they are just glad to be in each other's company again, and they don't need words to communicate that. It is a given.

She would be perfectly content to remain curled up there for the rest of her life, but eventually Tony announces, "I can't feel my legs," and she has to crawl off of him. He massages the tops of his thighs for a couple seconds before standing and reaching down to pull her up, too. Their chests brush. Tilting his head down, he fixes her with the same adoring expression he's been wearing since they left the airport. Even though she is much more at peace with herself than she used to be, she cannot help feeling unworthy of such reverence.

"You know," he says slowly, "I haven't showed you my newest purchase yet."

Ziva's heart rate picks up. She knows exactly what he's talking about. "No." She ghosts her lips over the bottom of his jaw. "You have not."

Tony grabs her hips and turns her in the direction of the bedroom. Pressing his front up against her back, he gently nudges her forward, moving along right behind her. "Go ahead, Miss David. Tell me what you think."

Ziva pushes the door open, and there is the queen-sized bed he's boasted about. It _is_ beautiful, just as he claimed, and she _does_ love it, as he predicted she would. "Did you end up assembling it by yourself?"

"Why does that matter?"

She glances back at him, raising her eyebrows. Tony sighs. "I called someone."

"I thought it might come to that."

"I _could_ have-"

"Tony," she cuts in, snaking her hand up his chest, "you are welcome to continue defending your honor, but I would really rather you familiarize me with our new bed." Her tone is sultry, the goal being to seduce him, but instead of a heady kiss or a hand up her shirt, she gets a goofy grin. "What?"

"_Our_ bed."

"Yes," she clarifies, and then a surge of fear rises within her. "It _is_ ours, correct? We are still going to-"

Tony grips her by the shoulders. "Ziva," he interrupts, "yes. _Yes_. Of course we're still doing this."

Feeling silly, she bites the inside of her cheek and holds onto his wrists.

"I'm sorry. You said _our bed_, and I guess that was the first time it really hit me that you're back for good and… and that we're gonna be sharing our lives. I'm so excited, Ziva. You have no idea how happy I am right now."

A lump rises in her throat in the midst of his monologue; once he has finished, she wraps both arms tightly around his neck and tugs him toward her. "Oh, I think I do."


	8. Chapter 8

_I will surround myself with those I love._

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Dawn has not yet arrived when Tony is awakened by the sound of footsteps. He reaches out blindly for Ziva, but encounters only sheets and covers, still warm from where she lay. Panicked, he sits up. "Ziva?"

"I am right here," comes her voice from elsewhere in the room.

Tony squints. Unable to see anything, he stretches toward the bedside table and turns on the lamp. "Hey," he says as light falls over them both. She is pacing beside the bed, clad only in pants and a bra, looking down. "What're you doing?"

"I cannot find my shirt."

"You know, I kind of prefer you without it."

Ziva sends him a teasing smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "I am going to see Gibbs. I think he would appreciate it if I were fully clothed."

Confused, he looks over at the clock. "You're going to see Gibbs at five in the morning?"

"_There_ it is," she says triumphantly, bending to retrieve her shirt. "I… I feel like I need to see him in private as soon as possible. I figured I would catch him before he goes into the office."

Tony took the day off so he could be with Ziva. He had been looking forward to sleeping in, maybe having a round of morning sex. All he wants to do is flop back against his pillows and convince her to return to his side. But he knows that he's not the only one who has missed her, so instead, he hauls himself out of bed and walks over to his dresser.

"You do not have to get up," she tells him. "I was planning to call a cab."

"I'll drive you and wait outside," he says, yanking on a pair of jeans. "Then we can go have breakfast somewhere. There's nothing to eat here."

Arms around his middle make him jump. Ziva laughs as she plants several light kisses in the space between his shoulder blades. "Sorry," she murmurs.

Not for the first time in the past twelve hours, emotion threatens to overcome him. Her physical presence, warm and solid, is almost too much. All last night, he kept having fleeting moments where he was sure this was all just a dream he never wanted to wake up from, and now it's happening again. Turning in her arms, he bows to kiss her. _Get a grip, DiNozzo. She's here. It's real. _"I guess you're forgiven."

Ziva pillows her head against his bare shoulder. He pulls her close to him, smoothing a hand over her wild hair. "Are you sure you don't want to sleep some more?" she asks. "We were up very late."

With a smirk, he squeezes her butt playfully. She reflexively presses her hips forward, into his, which only serves to make the memories of a few hours ago more vivid. "Nah, I'm good. I'd rather be with you. Better enjoy our alone time while we can- tonight we have your welcome back dinner at Ducky's, and I'm pretty sure you're gonna get whisked away from me as soon as we walk in."

Something in her expression shifts. She takes a step back. Tony grabs her waist, trying to figure out what he said wrong. "Ziva?"

"I am nervous about dinner," she admits, not meeting his eyes. "I fear that… that not everybody is as understanding as you. When I called Abby to tell her I was coming home, she yelled at me. Over the phone. She said that I had abandoned all of you… that you, in particular, were miserable for most of the autumn… and she was absolutely right."

"Zi-"

"I had my reasons. They were good reasons. I do not regret the time I spent finding peace for myself, Tony. I only regret how I handled it. It was not fair, the way I left things here. And with the way Abby acted, I have to wonder if the others feel the same way and were simply not as vocal about it."

Tony frowns. He never heard about anyone having a conflict with Ziva, and he definitely never would have guessed it of Abby. "You know, she didn't _seem_ mad at you. Pretty much every conversation I've had with her since you told them has been about you. This dinner thing, she planned it all."

"By the time we hung up that night, her anger seemed to have dissipated, and we were perfectly friendly toward each other," she says. "But I _know_ she's still harboring resentment for me. I cannot blame her. Just… tell me what to expect, Tony. Please."

Palming her cheeks gently but firmly, he forces her to look at him. Her chocolate orbs are pleading, desperate. Abby sometimes lets emotion gets the better of her. Ziva should know that by now. But she has been betrayed so many times by those who were supposed to love her unconditionally that there is a part of her, Tony suspects, just waiting for the other shoe to drop, for everyone to disappear and leave her lonely.

"I'm not going to take off again," she tells him. "I _want_ to be here. With you. With them."

"I know that, Ziva," he whispers. They're forehead to forehead, nose to nose; when she releases a shaky breath, he breathes in her air. "Everyone else knows it, too. The only things you should expect tonight are good food and a bunch of people who are really, really excited to see you."

She nods the best she can with him holding her face, then leans forward to give him a brief kiss. There is no passion; only comfort and thanks.

"Let me find a shirt," he says when she pulls away. "Then we'll go."

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Half an hour later, she hesitantly nudges open Gibbs' front door and steps gingerly into the house. The sound of running water greets her- from upstairs, thankfully; she still has time to gather her wits.

She is wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans when she happens to glance into the living room and catch sight of a familiar object on the coffee table. Squinting at it, she realizes that it's the postcard she sent Gibbs from Munich. _Months_ ago. And there it is still, out in the open, where he surely sees it every day.

This is what gives Ziva the strength and resolve to start up the stairs.

At the top, she does not pause; she turns right and keeps going until she arrives at the hall bathroom. The water has stopped running, yet there he is, already dressed for the day, with a toothbrush in his mouth.

He stares at her. She stares back.

Funny. In her mind, dental hygiene has always been one of those things too ordinary for Gibbs to bother with.

Ziva swallows hard. "Hello."

Gibbs turns back toward the mirror and resumes brushing his teeth. She does her best to ignore the twinge of hurt in her chest. The seconds stretch on and on as he spits and rinses. When he finally looks at her again, his expression unreadable, she all but loses her nerve.

"What're you doing here?" he asks gruffly.

"I wanted to see you," she manages, her voice small.

Gibbs watches her expectantly. She wills him to direct the conversation, but of course he is waiting for her. A functional mute, indeed.

"You said, when I called you last week," she begins, "that you were glad to hear that I was coming home. But here I am now, and you do not seem particularly thrilled."

His face softens, she thinks. Just a bit. "I've missed you, Ziver. I meant that."

Heart lifting at the familiar nickname, she rushes to return the sentiment. "I missed you, too." Having a conversation with him in the bathroom seems strange; they should be in the basement. It is silly, but she would probably feel more at ease if they were surrounded by sawdust and lumber. As it is now, she cannot focus, cannot choose one single thought to speak aloud.

He regards her with a strange mix of affection and wariness, something only he can so effortlessly manage. "How's DiNozzo?"

"What?" The sudden introduction of Tony to their conversation throws her off. "Oh, he is… he is good. Yes." Now is not the time to think about the love they made last night, but she can't help it. A tiny smirk curls the edge of her former boss's lip. Her cheeks heat.

_ Damn_ that man's intuition.

Soon enough, though, he turns serious once more. "You better be planning to stay for the long haul, Ziva. He's under the impression that you are. You know that, right?"

The implication that she would lead Tony on is not appreciated, but she ignores the stab of annoyance in favor of reassuring Gibbs. "Yes. And he is correct to think so."

Cocking a stern eyebrow, Gibbs asks, "That so?"

She takes a step closer. Only a foot stands between them now. "Tony loves me," she states like the fact it is. "I love him."

"Then why'd you break his heart?"

The truth catches in Ziva's throat, squeezes her lungs, threatens to pull her back under the ocean she's only recently managed to reach the surface of. The entirety of this past year flashes in front of her eyes: the things she did, that she didn't do. Her mistakes and sins and the fact that she refused her best friend, her soul mate, when he begged her to come back to D.C. with him. That he cried, more than once, and it was her fault.

"Because," she begins, and then chokes loudly on a sob, "I hated myself."

_ I killed Ari._

With this admission, just like the other one she made to him so long ago, Gibbs wraps her in his arms. She goes willingly into the embrace. Even as sorrow fills her, a greater part of her feels lighter. Gibbs, the only father she has left, has trouble using words. But even if he cannot tell, he can show, and it is forgiveness that he is demonstrating right now.

In her ear, he says, "Don't you ever believe for one second that you're not a good person."

Ziva nods vigorously into his shoulder, even though she won't be able to follow his instructions exactly. To herself, she vows to try.

"Now go on back to DiNozzo," he orders- but he doesn't let go of her.


	9. Chapter 9

_I will forge my own path._

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Ziva's return to D.C. begins relatively well. Dinner at Ducky's is great; the group is there until after midnight, talking and toasting, laughing about old times, and catching up on the new. Her fears about how she would received turn out to be unfounded. By the time she and Tony are walking out the door, she already has plans to shop with Abby and go out to lunch with McGee, and Gibbs has invited her to Leyla and Amira's the following weekend. A smile lights her face all the way back to his apartment. He keeps having to remind himself to watch the road, because he finds it terribly hard to look away from a radiant Ziva.

She uses some of her days to settle into his apartment, which results in inevitable rearranging of his belongings and a couple of short squabbles (both of which end in quick apologies intermingled with kisses). When she isn't in the mood for that, she heads into the city, exploring and rediscovering the places she always loved. Tony looks forward to getting home from work every day- firstly, because she's there waiting, and secondly, because she always has stories that she is excited to share. They snuggle on his couch with dinner and talk for hours before turning on a movie or migrating to the bedroom. Sometime in the past six months, Ziva has become much more open and very affectionate. She is not so rough around the edges, and her guard doesn't immediately go up whenever the conversation gets the slightest bit deep. Sex with her is amazing, mind-blowing, definitely the best he's ever had- and even though physically, it's great (obviously; she's younger than him and smokin' hot), the emotional intimacy is unlike anything either of them have known before. He thinks that fact deserves more of the credit for producing their quivering knees and gasping breaths and clingy hands.

They spend those first weeks in a bubble, happy and free of any pressing matters. Then she starts getting bored. She doesn't actually complain, but the problem is clear to Tony. Her evening monologues become shorter; when he asks about her plans for the next day, she shrugs. Her period of getting to know D.C. again is over. Now, she needs to be a part of it.

One night in June, Tony jerks awake to find her melded to his side, whimpering, with a tight grip on his bicep. He recognizes what's happening instantly. This is exactly how he was roused from sleep on that night in Paris years ago: by Ziva, trapped in a nightmare, trying desperately to claw her way back out.

"Ziva," he calls, shaking her shoulder gently. "Ziva, wake up. Come on. Just me."

With a cry, her eyes fly open. Tony intercepts her when she tries to sit up, gathering her into his arms and planting kisses beneath her ear in an effort to soothe her.

"Hey," he murmurs. "I got you. You're okay."

Ziva takes a deep, shuddering breath and covers her face with her hands. She's not crying, he's pretty sure, but her entire body shivers nonetheless.

"What do you need?" he asks when she doesn't speak.

She sniffs loudly. For a moment, she lies still in his arms. Then she gently shakes him off and swings her legs over the side of the bed. Tony was right: no tears. Only a shaky bottom lip. "I need a glass of water."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"Yes. Please."

In the kitchen, he leans against the counter while she takes a long, audible gulp of tap water. The overhead light reveals beads of sweat on her forehead that he hadn't noticed before. He watches her carefully as she inhales deeply, exhales, sets her glass down, and rolls her shoulders. She's composing herself; he knows because he's seen her do it a thousand times before.

Right before shutting him out.

Tony isn't sure if they're in danger of falling back into that same pattern, but he doesn't want to take any chances. Straightening up, he opens his arms, using two fingers to beckon her closer. "Come here."

There is one scary moment in which he thinks she's going to refuse. But then she walks over to him, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. Tony dips his fingers beneath the hem of her top and rubs circles on her bare back. They rock from side to side for a minute. He can feel her muscles relaxing under his touch.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" he asks eventually.

"No."

He opts to stay quiet rather than push her. After a few more seconds of silence, she sighs. "It was dark. I was tied up."

His stomach turns over as he recalls sitting across from her in that stuffy room, his own hands bound, sending silent prayers to a God he wasn't entirely sure he believed in. He rests his cheek on top of her head and tries to focus on the warmth of her skin beneath his palm.

"Nobody else was there, and I… I kept screaming for help, I was trying to free myself, and then I… accidentally tipped the chair over so I was on the floor… and-"

"Shhh," Tony cuts her off as her voice becomes steadily louder and more hysterical. "Shhh, Ziva. It was just a dream. It's over."

"The last time this happened was in Kenya. We had just arrived. I was still nervous about returning to Africa. This, tonight… I do not know…"

"You're just feeling a little unsettled right now," he says, squeezing her side. He wonders what happened in Kenya- if anybody was there to awaken her, or if the painful images in her mind dragged on and on. "I mean, you're starting all over, you know?"

Ziva sniffs. "I suppose."

"It might take some time, but you'll figure things out. And until then, you'll have me."

At that, she takes a step back. He relaxes his hold on her, but refuses to relinquish it entirely. She looks exhausted and spent. The lines in her forehead, he thinks, are not just from tonight- they are a reminder of all that Ziva has been through in her thirty-one years on this earth. Life has not been kind to her. And he hates that. He really, really does.

"At some point, you will get tired of waiting around for me to get my life back together."

Tony chuckles. "Sweet cheeks, haven't I proven that my limit on waiting for you doesn't exist?"

Ziva stares at him for a long second before her gaunt expression dissolves into a small smile. With one hand, she toys with the Star of David necklace he returned to her in April. "Yes. Yes, Tony, you have."

He tugs her back toward him, and she presses her body up against his. They hold each other in the middle of the kitchen for hours. For minutes. Perhaps just for moments.

Really, Tony has no idea how long they stand there. But if somebody were to come up and tell him it'd been an eternity, he would believe them, and he wouldn't regret it.

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As it turns out, Ziva doesn't actually need that much time to make her decision.

Her nightmare serves as a wake-up call: she _has_ to find something to occupy her time, or she will go crazy. Or crazi_er_. Since she has made the decision not to return to the field of law enforcement, NCIS or otherwise, she begins searching for part-time work. She fills out so many applications to restaurants and stores that she gets tired of seeing her own name and phone number. It all seems to be for naught, anyway- she doesn't get one call from anywhere. When she decides to take matters into her own hands and starts making phone calls herself, she gets the same standard reply, over and over again: "We are in the process of reviewing applications."

The answer to her frustration arrives in the form of a letter with an international stamp. Knowing instantly that it is from Hasina, she opens the envelope carefully, tearing it as little as possible. There are a mere four sentences inside, but Hasina's handwriting is perfectly legible and her Swahili appears to be correct. Ziva's heart swells with pride as she reads: _Miss Ziva, I am enjoying learning to write. My teacher said I am doing very good. I wish you were here. I hope you are well. From Hasina_.

When Ziva left the orphanage, the girls were only beginning to learn their letters, and now, three months later, Hasina is able to write this. It stuns her, the progress that has been made. She stands in the middle of the living room and stares at the piece of paper in her hands, and it comes to her suddenly, out of nowhere. Why she didn't think of it before, she has no idea. It seems obvious: an experience she missed out on when she was younger, an opportunity to learn, and a chance to improve herself, all in one.

She wants to go to college.

It is like a huge weight has been lifted off her shoulders. For the rest of that day and the ones that follow, she sits in front of the computer. She is no longer looking up the conditions for hourly employment at Ruby Tuesday; now, she scrolls through the University of Maryland's website, growing more excited by the second.

Ziva keeps her idea to herself for about a week. Unlike most of her past secrets, this one is sweet; instead of trying to shove it away, she loves to let it simmer. Wary of making a split-second decision, she does extensive research. It is going to be expensive, that's for sure. But this is the only downside she can find, and that concern pales in comparison to the benefits she imagines her schooling would reap.

There comes a point where she cannot proceed until she discusses it with Tony. On Saturday of that week, while they sit on the couch with their take-out, she breaks a companionable silence by saying there is something they need to talk discuss. He looks over at her, alarmed.

"Everything is fine," she says quickly. His shoulders droop in relief. "It is just… I figured it out."

Tony furrows his brow. Sauce stains the corner of his mouth, and Ziva licks her thumb before reaching up to scrub it away. "Figured what out?"

She takes a deep breath. "I… I think I want to get a degree."

His eyebrows shoot up. Obviously, he is caught by surprise, but he appears to be open to the idea. "Yeah?"

"Yes. How do you feel about that?"

"I think it's a great idea, Ziva."

"Honestly?"

"Yes."

"I have had a few days to think, and I am pretty sure this is… I have already contacted somebody in the admissions office."

"Good," he says, sounding sincere.

"You should know that I spent a lot of my savings in Europe and on the trip to Kenya," she says. This is the part she thought he might balk at. She cannot say she would blame him. "I still have quite a bit left, but I do not know if it will be enough for everything. I might have to take out loans."

Tony nods at her. "Yeah, maybe. That's okay. Everyone does."

"You are okay with me possibly going into debt? I mean, if we are to… if we…"

She falters. But Tony, her ever-dependable partner, picks up the slack. Of course. And of _course_ he is willing to do whatever it takes to see her happy. In her heart, she knows that only her safety is more important to him.

"I still intend to marry you someday, if that's what you're asking. I don't care if you owe someone a little bit of money." Dropping his food container into his lap, he tangles both hands in her hair and rests his forehead against hers. Ziva is breathless; all the air disappeared from her lungs at the word _marry_. "That's the way America works, anyway. You get to enjoy nice stuff, your house and car and whatever, but you also live in debt the whole time."

Ziva laughs out loud. "Oh, yes. _There_ is something to aspire to."

He grins, then nods at the computer next to them. "So. Show me what you've found out so far?"

And she does, with his strong, supportive arm around her shoulder and the fleeting thought that Tali and their mother would be proud of her. Ari, too. Maybe even her father.

None of them are still here. She wishes that they were. But she is proud of herself, and that will have to do.


	10. Chapter 10

_I will not be afraid._

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_February_

Tony groans loudly as he steps into the apartment, stamping his feet to get the snow off his shoes before kicking them into the corner. He glances around, confused, as he sheds his backpack and coat. Ziva is usually sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table with papers and textbooks strewn everywhere when he gets home. Tonight, there is no sign of schoolwork and no sign of her. All the lights in the living room are off. He checks his watch. No, it's not any later than he thought it was.

"Ziva?" he calls, starting toward their bedroom. He knows she's here; he parked next to the sedan she bought after selling her convertible last fall. Even so, he exhales in relief when he finds her curled up on top of the covers, a sleepy smile on her face. "Hey."

"Hello."

"Taking the night off?"

She hums in the affirmative. "I went to class this morning, but that was all I had the energy for."

"Are you feeling okay?" Tony asks. Putting off her work is not like her. She enjoys school more than anybody he's ever met before. To see her in bed so early, apparently with no intention of offering up some factoid like she normally does, is a bit worrisome. He tosses aside his suit jacket, loosens his tie and unbuttons his shirt so the collar is no longer choking him, and sprawls out beside her. "I hope that stomach bug's not back."

"I am fine, Tony. Very fine, in fact."

Something in her tone causes him to look over at her. She is biting her lip, staring at him intently. He turns onto his side and tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear. He is confused; the only thing he can do is ask, "What do you mean?"

Ziva covers his hand with both of hers and cradles it against her chest. Her eyelids drop, long lashes resting against her cheeks. Something has happened; something has changed. He waits to be clued in. She remains silent. Just as he is about to prompt her again, she moves their intermingled fingers down to her stomach and opens her eyes.

"After my class, I had a doctor's appointment," she says. "We… are going to have a baby."

Tony feels his jaw drop open of its own accord, and he flits his gaze down to where their hands reside. "You're…"

It doesn't seem real. He has imagined this moment a million times before. Having a family with her used to be his greatest desire, though unattainable; since they've begun their relationship, it became _someday_.

He is having trouble wrapping his mind around the fact that their someday has arrived.

There are so many questions running through his brain. The first one that gets out is, "You went to the doctor?"

"Yes."

"So you suspected?"

"I am sorry I did not tell you," Ziva says, sounding genuinely so. "When I was getting sick a few weeks ago, I did think it was only a virus. Then I missed my period. I waited until I was certain because I was afraid of getting your hopes up. I… I wasn't even sure a pregnancy was possible, with all the abdominal wounds I have sustained over the years…"

"But you are," he confirms, pressing his palm against her belly button. Dear God. His _kid_ is in there. "You are, and you're okay, and the baby's okay?"

Ziva nods. The happiness in her face is a perfect reflection of how he feels right now. If he weren't so enamored with this woman in front of him, the one who is to be the mother of his child, he would be running outside, whooping and hollering into the cold winter's night. "There is a risk of complications, but yes- I was examined, and they think I will be able to carry the baby to term."

This whole thing is unexpected- a curveball, for sure. A billion decisions will have to be made within the next nine months. They'll have to move; they'll have to buy furniture; they'll have to figure out how to reconcile their schedules with their family. But there is plenty of time for all that, and he has faith that everything will be okay. After all, the two of them are certainly no strangers to perseverance.

For now, Tony just buries his face in Ziva's neck and whispers, "Thank you."

She laughs at him, but a second later, a tear of hers falls against his cheek.

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"Tony," Ziva hisses from her spot on the ultrasound table. "Put those down!"

Ignoring her demand, Tony turns around, holding up the foam fallopian tubes that had been lying out on the counter. "I think these guys lost their uterus."

"You are such an idiot." She does not mean to snap, but she is too grumpy to apologize. Her pregnancy thus far has been mostly manageable. There have been a few bad days, though, and this has been one of them. She woke up vomiting, ignored Tony's suggestion that she stay home from school, and ended up having to flee to the bathroom in the middle of class. Despite it being three o'clock in the afternoon, she's exhausted. All she wants to do is go home and fall into bed.

Tony puts down his toy and comes to her side. Gone is his silly demeanor; as he picks up her hand and kisses her knuckles, he is all concern. "Sorry," he says. "I'm kind of nervous."

She glances down at her stomach. The bump there, though slight, is more noticeable than she was led to believe it would be at only ten weeks. "So am I," she admits.

He sinks into a chair next to the table. Her arm is lying beside her; he lays his head down on it, nestling into the crook of her elbow. Ziva reaches up to run her fingers through his hair. The moment is decidedly intimate, and they stay like that, no words necessary, until the doctor finally arrives.

After being introduced to Tony ("Toby, right?") and reviewing Ziva's symptoms, the middle-aged woman pushes Ziva's shirt up and spreads gel on her belly. Ziva barely refrains from cringing at the chill of it.

"Ready?" the doctor asks, grabbing her probe. Ziva nods as Tony quickly kisses her shoulder.

Black and white shapes soon appear on the ultrasound screen. She squints and waits for a moment of clarity, for maternal instinct to kick in and tell her what it is she's looking at, but she cannot make sense of it.

"Where's the head?" Tony asks.

The doctor chuckles lowly and looks away from the screen. "Actually, Mr. DiNozzo," she says, "there are two."

Ziva lifts her shoulder blades off the table in order to stare. "What?"

"What?" Tony echoes.

Suddenly, she understands what she is seeing.

There is one head.

And there is the other.

"When we ran your tests, I told you that your hCG levels were high," the doctor tells Ziva. "That can be indicative of twins. Not always, though."

_ Twins._

Vaguely, she remembers the conversation in question. The possibility of multiples was mentioned briefly and offhandedly; she paid it little mind. She was too busy worrying about how hospitable an environment her uterus would be, how Tony would react to the surprise. Now she sees that she was foolish. She has only just begun getting used to the idea of her and Tony morphing into a family of three. All along, they were to be four.

"Ziva," the doctor says, touching her leg lightly, "this changes things a bit. Twins carry more risk than regular pregnancies, and with your history, we are going to have to monitor you closely."

A new stab of fear tears through her. Tony's grip on her hand tightens just a bit. She looks at him, then at her doctor. "Are they going to be alright?"

"Everything looks great now," the doctor assures her. "There are preventative measures we can take. But problems could still arise, and we will only be able to deal with them at that time."

Ziva only realizes she's crying when moisture begins to gather in her ears. She tilts her head to the right so she can see Tony. He brushes her hair out of her face. "Hey. It's okay. Didn't you hear her? Nothing's wrong. It's an _if_, not a _when_."

She hears him, but she has not been in control of her hormones lately. Being told that she is carrying two babies instead of one, that the past she tried so hard to escape could still hurt her children, does not help; she is completely overwhelmed. When the doctor leaves, saying that she's going to give the two of them a moment, Ziva is incapable of forming a response. She covers her mouth, embarrassed.

Tony sits on the edge of the table and tugs her into his arms, cradling her head against his chest. Her belly is still bare; she cannot find the physical strength to cover it back up.

"Listen to me," he says softly. "I know it's hard. Hearing her say that there could be issues… I'm scared, too, Ziva."

"I know you are," she manages, gasping. "I'm being stupid, I am sorr-"

"Don't say you're sorry." He gently pushes her back and looks into her face. She wonders what she looks like in this moment- if she appears half as flustered as he does. "Ziva, you've gotta stop blaming yourself. You have every right to be upset right now, and if-" His voice catches a little; he clears his throat. "If something does go wrong, that won't be your fault, either." Leaning down, he presses his forehead against hers. "We're going to do everything in our power to make sure our babies are healthy," he whispers. Both of his hands come to rest on her tiny bump. Ziva grabs his forearms, holds tightly to them. He pauses, then leans forehead to brush her lips with his. "Ziva?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

"No matter what happens, promise me we'll still have each other."

She tries to communicate her intent to stay by his side with a strong, confident kiss, but her jaw shakes, and she knows he can feel it. "Of course we will," she murmurs.

It's the only thing she can say for certain right now.

**Disclaimer for this chapter and the next one: I did probably… thirty minutes of research, total, about this medical stuff. If anything's wrong, please try to overlook it. I've never been pregnant; I'm completely reliant on outside sources.**

**Also, there is one more chapter and then an epilogue : )**


	11. Chapter 11

_I will have a boy and a girl._

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A week after Ziva finishes her second semester of school, Tony is jarred awake at three in the morning by her standing over him in a panic, yelling that they have to go to the emergency room. He accidentally bangs his elbow against the side table in his rush to get out of bed. It is only after he has yanked on a pair of jeans and is ushering her out the front door that he thinks to ask what's wrong. She tells him that she had gone to use the bathroom and discovered blood in her underwear. His chest constricts, but he manages to stay composed for her sake.

It is a long night. Ziva is examined and diagnosed with placenta previa, meaning that one of the placentas is blocking her cervix. Everybody is fine- Ziva and both babies- and Tony almost weeps with relief when they are assured of that. However, she will almost definitely need a C-section when the time comes to deliver, and when her OB arrives just after dawn, Ziva is put on bed rest for the remainder of the pregnancy. "And no sex," the doctor orders sternly. "At all."

Tony knows this isn't nearly as troubling to Ziva as the prospect of lying around for the next few months. She would never jeopardize the babies' safety, so she follows all of her instructions to a T, but she is certainly not above complaining about it. While it's true that he sometimes rolls his eyes after hearing her groan dramatically for the fiftieth time in one day, he harbors genuine sympathy for her. Much of his free time is devoted to making her feel better in any way he can. He doesn't mind. There are worse things in life than thankful kisses.

She practically squeals with excitement (a first for Ziva, he's pretty sure) one afternoon when he walks in the door with a quart of mint chocolate chip ice cream. As soon as he has changed out of his work clothes and into something more comfortable, he dishes out two bowls and carries them over to the couch. She accepts hers gratefully and balances it on her sizable belly. Tony sinks onto the floor beside her. "How's my clan?"

"We are fine."

"No problems?" There haven't been any since the trip to the ER, but he always checks.

"No." Ziva moans as she takes her first bite of ice cream. Sex-deprived as he is, Tony can't help but be a little turned on. "This is so good. Is it still humid outside?"

"Yeah. Not as bad as yesterday."

"I suppose being stuck inside with the air conditioner is not _all_ bad," she concedes.

He leans over to rest his chin briefly on her shoulder, brushing his lips against her neck. Ziva turns her head to draw him into a kiss. Tony indulges her until she gasps into his mouth and jerks back.

"What?" he asks.

"Nothing. Somebody kicked me."

After giving her another peck, Tony moves her ice cream onto the coffee table with his own forgotten bowl, then slides her shirt up. "Hey," he calls softly, rubbing the underside of her stomach. "What's going on in there?" Out of the corner of his eye, Tony sees Ziva smile up at the ceiling, the way she always does while tolerating his one-sided conversations with their son and the other baby. (He wanted to keep the genders a surprise and she didn't. So they compromised.) He kisses the spot right above her belly button and smiles when he feels a little nudge. Resting his forehead on top of her, he quiets, enjoying the moment.

"Tony?" Ziva asks.

He sits up, one hand still rubbing across her swollen abdomen. "Yeah."

"Do you think I should quit school?"

"No," he says, taken aback. "No. Why would you? Just because you're gonna miss a semester?"

"Not because of that. We are going to have a family of four to support, Tony. I just don't know that this is a good financial decision."

Moving back toward her head, he cups her chin. "Do you want to finish?"

"Yes, b-"

"Then I want that, too."

"Tony," Ziva sighs and reaches up to caress his cheek. "You know our family must come first."

Wrapping her hand in his and bringing it down to his chest, he regards her intently. "Yeah, and you know what our kids are gonna want? They want their mom to be happy." She opens her mouth to argue, but he forges forward. "You've been a new person since you started school, Ziva. You love it. I love seeing you that way. Hell, I've even grown kind of interested in women's studies, myself." At that, she giggles. Tony grins at his small victory while simultaneously realizing that he wasn't even lying. "I would hate for you to lose your niche just as you've found it. That's all."

She shrugs. "No sacrifice is too large for the well-being of our children, Tony."

"I don't think this one's necessary." He places a kiss on the end of her nose. "Maybe it'll be tight at first, yeah. But we'll manage."

Ziva chews her bottom lip as she looks at him. Then: "If I plan to continue with school, are you okay with putting off the wedding until after I graduate? I would rather not have to worry about the stress and cost of that, too."

A man less assured of his future might have been hesitant to accept this condition. And Tony does want this wedding; he wants it so much that his heart tugs when he thinks about it. There is no rush, though. He knows she isn't going anywhere.

"Sweetheart," he tells her, "you're the one chained to the house with two people growing inside of you. Your wish is my command."

She laughs and tugs him toward her by the shirt collar. The time for serious discussion is over, he assumes, slipping one hand beneath her neck as she smashes her mouth against his. Although their awkward position is uncomfortable and they are unable to do anything more than make out and that belly prevents him from being as close to her as he would like, something about her kiss takes the weight off of Tony's shoulders, if only for a moment.

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Her water breaks at thirty-two weeks.

_ It is too early, _she thinks in horror as she stares at the puddle gathering on the kitchen floor. _It is not time._

But her babies appear not to care. They are on their way.

With shaking fingers, she calls Tony. He very loudly yells, "_what_," when she tells him what has transpired, then frantically informs her that he's in Arlington with McGee, following up on a lead. "Gibbs is still at the office," he says. "I'm gonna send him to get you. We'll meet you at the hospital."

"Please hurry," she begs as pain shoots through her middle, causing her to grab the edge of the counter for balance.

"We will. McGee's calling Gibbs right now. It's gonna be okay, ninja," he says. "I love you."

Ziva closes her eyes. "You too."

Fifteen minutes later, Gibbs barges through the front door just as she is zipping up a hastily assembled overnight bag. He shoulders the bag and tucks her under his arm, effectively taking charge, and she is content to allow it.

"I am early," she says. It's an unnecessary utterance; he knows that her due date is in mid-September, and today is August 12. If he is worried, he is doing an excellent job of not showing it. Then again, when has he ever betrayed emotion?

His only response is to stroke her hair and drop a kiss on the top of her head. She fiercely grips her stomach with both hands, as if that will keep the babies from entering the world until they are ready.

At the hospital, Gibbs helps her into a wheelchair. "I'm gonna wait for DiNozzo in the lobby, tell him where to go," he says, leaning over her. "You hang in there, Ziver."

"Okay," she whispers.

Then the nurse pushes her away.

There are too many people around, all speaking way too fast. The one word she keeps hearing is _Caesarean_. She was told after her bleeding scare that a vaginal delivery would probably not be possible, and she has been preparing herself for that. Now that she is actually in a hospital bed, her contractions growing more frequent and closer together, she realizes that she is not ready. Not at all.

An hour has passed, she's already had her epidural, and Tony has still not arrived. She begs the doctor to let her wait for him, but the older woman shakes her head firmly, saying that time is of the essence and the babies need to come out now. Ziva fights tears as she is transported to the operating room. She needs him more than anything else in the world right now, and he isn't here.

Just as a cloth is hung to block her view of her own abdomen, a presence beside her and a repetitive chorus of "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," causes her to look up.

And there he is, clad in scrubs, face red and chest heaving, as if he's been running.

"What the hell took you so long?" she yells loud enough that one of the nurses looks over, raising her eyebrows.

"I'm sorry," he says again, sinking into a chair and grabbing her hand. "Traffic was a bitch and McGee, the dumbass, he took a wrong turn and got us lost for ten minutes."

"He took a _wrong turn?_ He has probably driven to this hospital a hundred times!"

"I know. I was two seconds away from strangling him."

"Here we go," the doctor calls from down near her feet, putting an end to their McGee bashing and drawing them back to reality.

Inhaling deeply, Ziva turns to Tony. "Thirty-two weeks," she says softly. "That's how far along I am."

"I know."

She swallows. "I am so scared, Tony." It is not an easy thing to admit, but she can see the fear festering in his eyes and knows that he understands.

"So am I." Combing his fingers through her sloppily done ponytail, he rests his chin next to her head and lowers his voice. "I have something to tell you. Might help a bit."

Narrowing her eyes, Ziva asks, "What?"

"Last time we went to the doctor," he whispers like he has a secret, "when neither of you were paying attention, I looked at the file."

For a moment, she is confused; then she understands what he's saying. "You were the one who wanted a surprise!"

"I changed my mind." Tony flashes her a tiny little grin, and the mere sight sends a new ray of hope shining down on her. "So. You wanna know?"

"Yes," she hisses. "Now."

"The other one is a girl."

Despite their current situation, Ziva cannot hold back a smile. "Really?"

"Yep. Just like your list."

_ Her list. _It seems so long ago that the two of them were in Israel, creating that list together. She had nearly forgotten. Now that he's mentioned it, he is right: when she decided to start over, she had come up with lots of new goals, but she kept one from when she was young: _I will have a boy and a girl._

And soon enough, she sees her girl, clearly not as big as she should be, screaming and covered in blood yet somehow beautiful, lifted up briefly by the nurse before being whisked away. The boy follows soon after. He is smaller, Ziva can tell on sight. Then he is gone, too, and she starts to sit up, desperate to keep the babies in her line of vision. Tony gently nudges her back down.

"They're probably gonna take them right to the NICU," he reminds her. "We'll get to see them later."

"I need to make sure they're alright."

So Tony flags down the doctor; she assures them that the babies are as healthy as they can be, having been born prematurely, and that they should be fit to go home after a few weeks in the hospital. Their girl is nearly four pounds, she adds, and the boy is barely over three. It is likely that she will be released first.

After Tony and Ziva have had their initial questions answered, the doctor congratulates them and takes her leave. Ziva relaxes into the operating table on which she still lays, covering her face with her hands.

"Ziva?" Tony asks softly. "You okay?"

Her response is to burst into tears. She isn't even embarrassed.

Their babies will survive.

Nothing else matters.

That night, she and Tony sit side by side in the NICU, their chairs tucked in between two incubators. The babies have feeding tubes and respiratory equipment to help them breathe. Their diapers are much too large. It is hard to witness her children like this, ill-equipped to handle the world they have been thrust into, especially because she and Tony are not yet allowed to hold them. She is restricted to sticking her fingers through the holes in the sides of the incubators and stroking the soft skin of her babies' arms.

"I gotta say," Tony tells her, "this wasn't really how I pictured their very first birthday."

"I know." Ziva nestles against him, ignoring the twinge of pain in her sore torso. "Next year will be better, I'm sure."

She feels the corners of his mouth lift as he kisses her forehead. They settle into a peaceful silence until he asks, "So do you think we're done with having kids? Are these two it?"

Yes, they are. She has no desire to endure another pregnancy, not after the complications with this one. Besides, she imagines that once they bring these twins home, there will be very little time over the next eighteen years to even _make_ another baby, let alone raise it.

"This is it," she tells Tony. "This is our family."

As she considers her own statement, she finds that, despite some lingering anxiety about embarking on motherhood- and, at some point, marriage- she is excited. The life laid out in front of her is one she truly wants.

And even more than that, it's a life worth living.

**Consider this chapter my Christmas gift to you all! Have a good holiday! : )**


	12. Epilogue

_I will be happy._

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Although New Year's was two weeks ago, Christmas lights still adorn the two-bedroom rental house Tony and Ziva moved into while the twins were in the NICU. He sighs when he steps out of his car and is visually assaulted with glowing color. _I'll take them down this weekend, _he decides grudgingly as he makes his way up the driveway. Cords are all over their front porch. Rightfully cautious (he has face-planted into the concrete three different times since Thanksgiving), he sidesteps them, moving slowly in case something gets attached to his foot. He pauses with his finger six inches from the doorbell. It isn't that late, only seven-thirty, but if the babies are already down for the night and he wakes them, he won't live to see tomorrow.

The living room and kitchen are dark. When he turns into the unlit hallway, the sound of soft humming reaches his ears. He walks past the master bedroom, past the bathroom and laundry closet, stopping only when he arrives at the doorway of the nursery. There are no lights on in here, either, but the red and green and blues of the Christmas lights filter through the window and land on Ziva. She sits in one of their two rocking chairs, next to one of their two cribs, with a baby at each breast. Rarely is she able to feed them both at the same time; their daughter is already a bit rambunctious, and she has whacked her brother with her flailing limbs more than once when they were in close proximity to each other. But the scene before him now is peaceful: both of the twins suckle happily while Ziva ceases her humming in favor of greeting him.

"Hi."

"Hey." Tony kisses her before moving behind the chair and beginning to massage her shoulders. "Miss Esther's behaving herself today, huh?"

"For once," Ziva says. She rests the back of her head against his stomach. "How was your day?"

"Dead petty officer had an affair. Wife stabbed him in the gut the way he stabbed her in the heart. That's a direct quote, by the way."

She chuckles softly. "Open and shut, then?"

"Open and shut," Tony confirms. He glances down in time to see Esther pull away and glance around the room as if waiting for something exciting to happen. "Want me to burp her?"

"Please."

He grabs a nearby rag and drapes it over his shoulder before hoisting Esther up to rest against him. Ziva repositions Levi, cuddles him closer to her chest. Tony methodically pats Esther's back as he steps out to stand in front of the rocking chair. "So, last day home. How're you feeling?"

Ziva considers. "A little sad. Nervous. But ready."

He nods understandingly. This is about how he felt when he went back to work just before Thanksgiving. Ziva's return to school full-time involves a bit more stress and a tighter schedule, though; starting tomorrow and extending through June, he is barely going to see her during the week. Most days, he will arrive home at five o'clock exactly, and she will immediately depart for her evening classes. They've been lucky enough to locate Janine, an experienced nanny in her early sixties who is technically retired but looking for a bit of extra cash. She will take care of the twins on Tuesdays, when Ziva has a couple of morning classes, and will also be available on short notice if they are ever in a pinch. (Really, they ought to buy the woman a fruit basket. This whole balancing act would probably fall apart without her.) It isn't going to be easy, but they are determined.

"It'll be okay," he tells her. "We'll just have to get used to the new routine."

"I know."

They have a good plan. Everything is going to work out. Their kids will not be neglected. Even so, Tony still finds himself wishing the foreseeable future held more time for all four of them to be together.

Esther releases a warm, milky breath into his ear. Tony kisses the side of her face. "Good girl," he coos. Noticing that Levi has finished with his meal as well and Ziva is now buttoning up her blouse with one hand, he asks, "You wanna switch me?"

"Sure."

They make the trade effortlessly- he wonders, do all parents of multiples have this mastered the way they do?- and as Ziva carries Esther over to the changing table, Tony positions Levi against his shoulder. Both babies are prepared for bed, then peppered with kisses and settled carefully into their cribs. After making sure the monitors are turned on, Ziva leads the way out of the nursery. Tony grabs her hand as they walk down the hall toward their bedroom, and she raises her eyebrows at him.

"Just thinking," he says, "about how much I love being your partner. Doesn't matter if it's bad guys or babies. We make a good team."

Ziva grins. "We do, don't we?"

"Oh yeah," he confirms, pushing the door open and waiting for her to slip past him before turning on the overhead light. "The best."

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"Momma!"

This is the third time in five minutes Ziva has been summoned from the other side of the kitchen, where her twins sit in their little plastic chairs at their little plastic table, eating sandwiches and sliced apples. Through gritted teeth, she grounds out, "Yes?"

What follows is an unintelligible monologue that Esther seems very passionate about. Levi eats quietly, sits still, and watches his sister with wide, observant eyes. Ziva turns off the sink. She should have known from the beginning that trying to get the dishes done before naptime was a pointless endeavor.

Crouching beside Esther, Ziva grabs a piece of apple and takes a small bite off the end. "Yum," she drawls exaggeratedly. "Here, can you eat the rest for me?"

In a rare moment of cooperation, Esther does as she is asked. Then she attempts to get up and leave all but that one slice of apple and a corner of her bologna sandwich. Ziva grabs her. Esther bursts into noisy tears.

"I need you to eat, _motek_." She manages to sound patient even though her frustration is rapidly building. If it were Levi who was refusing to eat, she would be worried. Esther, however, has been a difficult child since she was taken out of her incubator. She just likes to fuss. And so there is nothing for Ziva to do but deal with it.

Sniffling loudly, Esther moodily crosses her arms over her chest and slumps down in her seat. Ziva tries to calm down before launching back into the conflict. Then, by some miracle, she hears the front door open. Familiar footsteps enter the house. "Hey," Tony calls.

"Thank God," she mutters, straightening up. He appears in the kitchen a moment later. It is Saturday; he only went into work for a couple of hours, so he is dressed casually, in jeans and a polo that Ziva definitely appreciates on him. She rises onto her toes to kiss him briefly. Without preamble, she resorts to begging. "_Please_, would you try getting Esther to finish her lunch?"

Tony chuckles as he disentangles himself from her. "I'll see what I can do." Ziva watches him ruffle Levi's dark hair before assuming position next to Esther. He may be laughing now, but he won't be in a couple of minutes.

She turns toward the pile of mail he had dumped on the counter and starts sifting through it. Bill, catalog, bill, spam, bill, bill. At the very bottom of the pile is a small envelope; beneath the forwarding label, Ziva sees the address of Tony's old apartment written in neat, familiar handwriting.

She instantly knows who it is from.

The third anniversary of Ziva's return to Washington came and went about a month ago, meaning that it has also been three full years since she left the orphanage in Kenya. So much has changed since then: she is now a student, a mother, and a fiancée. At the time she knew Hasina, she was merely lost and struggling to find her way in the world.

Back when she first started at the University of Maryland, she did write to tell the little girl that her passion for education was what nudged Ziva toward continuing hers. Hasina never replied. Ziva figured she did not have the time or the will, though she also had a nagging fear that disease had taken her former charge as a casualty.

But here is proof that this is not the case. She is confused by the Royal Mail stamp in the top right hand corner- perhaps, for some reason, the letter had to be processed in the UK before being sent to the United States?- but the handwriting clearly belongs to Hasina. Ziva carefully slides her thumbnail through the top and takes out the lone piece of notebook paper inside.

The first thing she notices is that, oddly, the letter is written in English.

_ Dear_ _Miss Ziva, I am sorry I've not written you in so long. Soon after your letter to me arrived, a man and woman from England came to visit. They spent the day walking around and talking to some of us. Then they came to talk to me. I liked them. They were nice. The next day, my teacher Femi asked if I wanted to go live with them in England. I was scared to leave and go somewhere I never had been before, but I said yes because I missed having family. I cried when I said goodbye to my friends and teachers. But now I get to live in a big house with my new mum and dad. I have a new older sister, too. Her name is Mary. She has been teaching English to me ever since I got here. Below she will write our address if you want to write to me._

_ Sometimes I miss Kenya but mostly I am happy. I read your letter yesterday again. It is good you decided to go to school. Also, tell your boyfriend hi from me. I hope you and him still love each other._

_ From, Hasina_

"Momma?"

Levi is tugging at her pant leg. Stunned by what she just read, she blinks a couple of times before she is able to turn her attention to him. "Hmm? Are you finished?"

He nods. Tony, still supervising Esther, glances over at her. "What is that?" he asks.

Settling Levi on her hip, Ziva grabs the letter with her free hand and carries it over to him. "Hasina," she says by way of explanation.

Recognition instantly flares in his eyes. He scans the words quickly, eyebrows shooting up halfway through. "Wow."

"I know." Blinking quickly to keep her tears at bay, she presses her lips against the top of Levi's head. Tony reaches up to squeeze her side in a gesture of comfort. "I'm just so happy for her," she murmurs. "She's such a sweet little girl. She deserves this."

Ziva finds her weepiness over Hasina's good news hard to understand and even harder to justify out loud, but Tony seems to get it. He presses a light kiss against her temple. "Yeah."

That's all he says. Somehow, though, as he continues to hold her; as Levi tugs at her Star of David; as Esther _finally_ picks up an apple slice, she understands his double meaning.

0000000000

Sprawled out on the driveway with the sun beating down on him, Tony lazily raises a hand to wipe sweat off of his face. "Ziva," he whines.

"Hmm?"

"Will you bring me a popsicle?"

"Get it yourself."

"Levi's sitting on me."

At that, Ziva looks over from her spot three feet away. She smiles when she sees their son perched on Tony's stomach, digging through a container of chalk. "Oh, you poor, helpless thing," she calls sarcastically. Moving Esther off of her lap, Ziva stands. "Fine. I will rescue you. As usual."

Tony grins up at her as she comes closer. "Thanks."

"You are welcome." Bending over at the waist, she kisses him lightly on the mouth. "Do you want cherry or orange?"

"Cherry."

"I figured."

He is about to make a suggestive comment about popsicles possibly making an appearance in their bedroom tonight when Levi bounces on top of him and takes the air right out of his lungs. "Gots the blue!" he announces. "Daddy, I gots the blue."

"Awesome," Tony wheezes out. Ziva laughs. They both observe as he slides onto the concrete and begins work on his latest masterpiece. Levi does not possess the same fiery spirit as Esther; he is a mellow, pensive little boy who would sooner bake cookies with his mother than accompany his sister on her boisterous adventures. The intense focus he devotes to every task he takes on never ceases to amaze Tony- it makes him seem twenty years older, no joke.

"Okay, I will be right back with your popsicle," Ziva says at the same moment Esther suddenly screeches, "My chalk!"

Tony lifts his head lazily, as Esther screeching is nothing new. When he catches sight of her, running after a piece of chalk that is rolling rapidly toward the street, he bolts upright. "Esther! Stop!"

Ziva takes off, her natural agility and speed propelling her across the inclined driveway much quicker than he could ever hope to travel. In a flash, she plucks Esther off of the curb, two feet from where an approaching car has slammed on its brakes.

Everything happens so fast that Tony doesn't digest the extent of the danger until it has already passed. He sits on the ground, trying to calm his racing heart. The driver of the car rolls down the window and apologizes. Ziva waves her off. As soon as the woman has continued on down the road, Ziva scolds Esther loudly and harshly enough that Levi breaks his concentration to stare at them curiously. Tony nudges him. "Hey, buddy, wanna show me what you're drawing?"

His attempt at redirecting his son's attention works, but he keeps one eye on Ziva. She stomps over to the porch and plunks Esther down on the bottom step. "You are in timeout," she declares. Esther begins to cry. For the first time, Ziva meets Tony's gaze, and he sees that the rage has seeped out of her expression. All that remains is raw fear.

Getting to his feet, he extends his arms, and she walks right into them. He pulls her close as warm tears roll down his neck. "It's okay," he murmurs. "You got her. She's okay."

Ziva takes a shaky breath. "That car-"

"I know."

"I yelled at her."

"Well, she needs to know not to run out in the street." As he kisses her hair, he stares at their daughter, trying to reassure himself, too. "She's fine, Ziva."

She lifts her head. Tony squeezes her waist; she smiles, wipes her tears, and then breaks out of his grasp. He watches her sink down beside Esther and is amazed by how she gains the little girl's forgiveness with just a few strokes of her auburn hair. She goes on to grab a pink piece of chalk and scribes a large _E_ on the driveway.

Levi taps his arm then. Tony turns his attention to his son as he asks how to draw a butterfly; when he looks back up a minute later, Esther's first and middle name have been written, and both of his girls are giggling.

0000000000

"You know," Tony says, leaning against the bathroom doorway as Ziva brushes her teeth, "I'm proud of you."

She spits into the sink. "Why?"

"For the way you handled that whole thing with Esther."

At that, she freezes, brush in the air. Only a couple of hours ago did she finally manage to stop replaying the image of her baby nearly running out in front of a moving car; now, panic seizes her heart once again. She grabs her water glass and rinses out her mouth before turning toward him. "What do you mean?"

"You were scared shitless, Ziva, but you didn't let it swallow you up the way you used to. Remember, like… like when Bodnar T-boned us? We'd been holding hands, and you were about to tell me something. It was very… very intimate. More intimate than I think we'd ever been. Then that happened and you closed yourself off. You barely spoke to me. Retreating into yourself was your defense mechanism."

Ziva raises her eyebrows at him. "Are you going somewhere with this, Tony? This trip down remembrance lane is not very flattering for me."

"Yeah, my point is- you didn't _do_ that today. That could have easily turned into a tragedy, and we both knew it. But you just let me hold you for a minute, and then you made nice with Esther, and we all moved on." He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear; she leans into his touch, her annoyance melting away. "As much as I hated it back then, I think that time you spent on your own probably did you a lot of good."

"It did," she agrees. She thinks back to that afternoon, and then to that night they returned from Berlin. Five years have come and gone, but she still recalls how her thirst for Ilan Bodnar's blood grew ever stronger after his latest attack on her and yet another person she cared for.

Today, she had one moment of terror-fueled indignation directed toward her child, and that was that.

Tony is right. She has changed. And for the better.

Resting both hands on his chest, she tilts her face up to his. "While we're on the subject, I do not believe I ever told you what I meant to say in the car."

He shakes his head. "No, you haven't."

"I remember the exact words I had chosen," she chuckles. For whatever reason, she feels lighter, as if a weight has been taken off of her shoulders. Perhaps it is because of the reality she finds herself in. After all, Bodnar is not here. Esther and Levi are asleep down the hall. Tony has her in his arms. She is not invincible, but that is okay. She can handle being vulnerable.

"I made a split-second decision. It was… very unlike me. But I honestly was going to say, 'Tony, we should give this a try.'"

Tony smiles sadly. "I wish you'd had the chance to finish your sentence."

"It used to be the biggest regret of my life," she admits. Her arms snake up to wind themselves around his neck. "But you are correct- the more I consider it, the more I think that my time alone was very worthwhile. Our relationship is stronger as is than it would have been had we begun it back then."

"You think?"

"I don't think," she says, moving her lips against his, "I know."

She is not sure whether he recognizes her reference, but he must appreciate her words on some level, because he closes the miniscule gap between them and kisses her until she is dizzy.

0000000000

Ziva's last final exam- which, with her thesis already done, is the lone hurtle she has to jump before receiving her degree in women's studies- takes place on a Friday in early June. The weather is beautiful, thank God; it makes Tony's task of waiting outside the school building with the kids much more pleasant than it would be otherwise.

"Stop it!" Levi wails as Esther blows dandelion fluff at him. He covers his face the best he can with a balloon clenched tightly in one fist. "Go away!"

"Esther," Tony calls as she starts to bound in the other direction, "come here."

"I wanna dandy-lin."

"Later. We're here to surprise Mommy, remember?"

At that, she turns on her heel and runs back to the bench they've commandeered. He catches her before she can catapult herself right into his gut, as she often does, and lifts her onto the knee not already occupied by Levi. "Okay, guys. Your mom could be out any time now. We need to be ready. Can I have the balloon, buddy?" Levi hands it over obediently. "Thanks. Alright, Ninja Petite, listen up. Your job is to hold the balloon." Placing the string in her palm, he gently closes her little fingers over it. "Just like that. Really tight, okay?"

"Okay, okay." Esther brings both hands protectively to her chest. The cheerful yellow balloon bobs above them.

"As soon as you see Mommy, walk- _walk_- up to her and give her the balloon. Then give her a hug and a kiss and tell her good job. Okay?"

"Uh-huh."

Tony kisses Esther's forehead before turning to his son. "Ready?"

Levi nods solemnly.

Reaching one hand into his pocket, he lowers his voice and leans in conspiratorially. "Your job is really, _really_ important. Here we go. I'm gonna show you exactly what to do."

It winds up being about fifteen more minutes before Ziva emerges. She is walking quickly, purposefully, until she sees them and stops in her tracks. "Tony?" she asks, confused.

"Go, go," he whispers to his daughter.

Esther's execution is flawless. When Ziva bends over to take the balloon, she locks her arms around her mother's neck and squeezes. Ziva's school bag slips off her shoulder; it takes her a moment to hike it back up, and then she is preoccupied by whatever Esther is saying. Her distraction gives Levi plenty of time to sneak up next to her. By the time she turns to greet him, he has already opened the box and lifted it up.

Tony hears her breath catch in her throat as she sees the ring inside. She stares for a moment, then looks over Levi's head. "Tony?"

He feigns nonchalance as he comes closer, even though his heart is definitely racing. "The deal was that we would wait until you were done with school."

Her soft laugh makes him smile. "You are _so_ impatient."

"Maybe." Stopping beside Levi, he grabs her hand and brings it to his lips. There is nothing rushed about the way he kisses each of her fingers individually and then leaves a lingering one on the base of her thumb. Ziva watches with wide eyes that are just beginning to water.

At long last, he puts his greatest wish into words.

"Ziva, will you marry me?"

And there is no guilt, no shame, no hesitation- no doubt- in her resounding, "Yes."

**Firstly- I'm really not sure how colleges on the East Coast operate, schedule-wise, because I live in the smack dab middle of the United States. If that's wrong at any point in this chapter, sorry.**

**Also, there is a LOT of time-jumping in here. I hope I did it in a way that didn't leave you too confused. If you are looking for clarification: in the first section, the twins are a few months old; in the last, they are two months shy of their fourth birthday.**

**OH, and there was really no good place to put this, but I want everybody to know that their full names are Levi Anthony and Esther Elizabeth :P**

**ALSO, in case anybody was wondering if that was a typo- YES, Esther has red hair. Well, I imagine it more brownish-red, but with a definite reddish hue. Recessive gene on Tony's side. Yep yep.**

**Hope you enjoyed the last chapter. Thank you so, so, SO much for reading this story! : )**


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